


To Build a Home

by heartwasalegend



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-26
Updated: 2012-03-26
Packaged: 2017-11-02 13:19:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 54,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartwasalegend/pseuds/heartwasalegend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel and Quinn both end up in New York after high school. Follows the evolution and eventual dissolution of their relationship over the span of a decade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She wakes with a start from a nightmare she can no longer recall the details of. 

For all her years in therapy, the feeling of waking up tangled and caught in sweaty sheets - heart pounding in her chest - is so familiar it’s almost comforting.

It’s summer in the city, already humid and sticky though it’s only just morning. Her pajamas cling to her, itch at her skin, as she tries to slow her breathing. She kicks the sheets off her body and runs a hand down her face, rubbing at her eyes, before settling her palms against her rib cage. It expands and contracts sharply, vague panic still coursing through her system. Somewhere beneath the bone a familiar ache pulses bluntly. 

Her alarm clock goes off, marking 7:15 AM and the need to get up and shower away the remnants of her dream.

It takes her twenty minutes to muster the energy to do so.

She lets the scalding water run over her, pound against her skin for longer than usual. For a while it’s helpful to have something else, some new pain, to focus on. 

Her bedside clock mocks her as she towels off, twisting her hair back and up into a severe knot. There’s no way she’ll be able to make her train, no way she won’t manage to be the last associate to get in today.

There’s a suit, fresh from the drycleaner’s, hanging in her closet. She tears away the plastic garment bag and lays it all out on her bed. She dresses, retrieves the blankets she kicked to the floor and smoothes them back into place. 

There’s coffee already brewed in the kitchen. She shuts off the timer, resets it to the same time tomorrow out of habit. She takes a glance at the microwave, and hurries with renewed purpose, pulling a travel mug from the cupboard and filling it. 

Her briefcase is already packed, sitting on the bench by the door. She pulls a pair of plain black heels from the shoe rack and slips into them. A final glance at the mirror in the entryway causes such a flash of hurt in her chest that she almost turns around and crawls back into bed. She runs a shaking hand down the front of her suit jacket, smoothing over the dark grey fabric. She allows herself a minute - just one - to breathe before she’s out the door and off towards the elevator.

The lobby is empty, save for the doorman, who’s in the middle of yawning when he hears her heels clicking against the floor. He looks up, startled, and straightens immediately when he recognizes her.

“Good morning,” he says, nodding at her with a smile before scrambling for the door.

She reaches it before him and pulls it open herself.

“Have a good day, Miss Fabray!” 

For a moment his voice carries after her, echoing along the marble flooring before the sound of the city rushes forward to greet her.

 

_“Is there anything else you wanted to touch on today, Quinn?”_

_She glances up at her therapist, tearing her eyes away from the carpet. After two years she has the intricate pattern of it pretty much memorized. She smiles, trying desperately to keep her guard down long enough to finish out the session. The amount of money her mother spends to keep her here – well she tries not to waste it._

_“I don’t know, I think we’ve covered most of what’s on my mind right now,” Quinn replies. “Just a little jittery about my new classes, my new dorm. I need some adjustment time, but I’m not too worried about it.” She meets her therapist’s gentle gaze steadily. “Is there anything else_ you _think we should touch on?”_

_Dr. Kandrack glances at her clipboard, jots down a quick note and then folds her hands in her lap._

_“Have you spoken to anyone from Lima lately?” she asks. “Any progress there?”_

_Quinn’s fingers press instinctively against her legs, tracing anxious lines down her thighs._

_“You mean other than my mom, Brittany and Santana?” Quinn says wryly._

_“You know I do, Quinn.”_

_Quinn sighs and glances out the window. It’s getting dark and she’s hoping to get to the bookstore before it closes. She’s waiting on a textbook they had to order in for her. It’s due in today._

_“Quinn.”_

_She turns her gaze back to Dr. Kandrack._

_“No,” she replies finally. “I haven’t. I – I’m working on it.”_

_It’s a lie. She isn’t working on it, and she has no intention to. All those people, the ones Dr. Kandrack insists she should talk to, people like Puck and Shelby and Mr. Schuester and her Dad –_

_She has no desire to speak to any of them ever again. Particularly her father. Beyond wondering occasionally about whether he knows that a significant portion of his spousal support is paying for therapy for the daughter he disowned, she barely thinks of him at all._

_“I know that you think it would be a waste of time,” Dr. Kandrack says, after a few silent, terse moments. “But you still carry around so much guilt about that period in your life and I’m concerned that someday it won’t be a weight you’re able to bear.”_

_Quinn only nods in response before standing and offering her hand. “Thank you. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”_

_Dr. Kandrack takes her hand, squeezes it briefly and says, “I’m not saying it has to be today, Quinn, but you know where I stand on the matter.”_

_She manages to make it over to campus in time to hit the bookstore before it closes. The first employee she finds disappears into the back in search of her textbook, so she takes the opportunity to rifle through the Social Sciences section. There are a few books she recognizes from her first two years. She picks up a dense, and completely impenetrable Global Criminology text she was assigned last year. Five minutes of skimming later she still carries no regrets about never getting around to reading it._

_“Excuse me.” A soft, strangely familiar voice sounds to her left. “I’m looking for the Music section? There’s one textbook in particular actually if you wouldn’t mind – “_

_Quinn turns and is just about to politely inform this girl that she’s not an employee when her voice catches in her throat._

_It takes Rachel only a few moments more to recognize her._

_“Oh my god.” Her tone is hushed, her hand flies dramatically to her chest. “Quinn!”_

_Quinn manages a tight smile. “Hi, Rachel.” Something clicks over in her mind as she watches Rachel’s eyes trail over her body. “Wait, did you just mistake me for an employee? I don’t work here. You’re gonna need to find someone else to do your bidding,” she snaps, her voice coming out sharper than she means it to._

_Rachel rolls her eyes. “It was an honest mistake, Quinn. In fact, you should take it as a compliment. I obviously thought you looked well-read and professional so –“_

_Quinn cuts her off, “Whatever, it’s fine.” She looks over Rachel’s shoulder, searching for the employee who hopefully has her book. “What are you even doing here, NYADA run out of books?”_

_Rachel’s eyes flicker to the floor just once before her face draws together in a smile that doesn’t read as genuine in the slightest. “I transferred. I’m a Tisch student now.”_

_“Oh,” Quinn replies._

_“Yes,” Rachel says, brushing past her. “I really should be going Quinn. It was nice to see you.”_

__That _doesn’t read as genuine in the slightest, either._

 

The office floor is already a flurry of activity by the time she arrives. 

“Nice of you to show, Fabray!” an associate fires her way as she stalks down the rows of cubicles towards her office. She gives a dismissive wave of her hand and a roll of her eyes.

“Ms. Fabray, you have two messages about the Richardson case and Mr. Johnston wants to see you in his office by noon,” her assistant rattles off as she reaches her office doors. Quinn doesn’t acknowledge her, but she follows her inside, taking care to close the door behind them.

“And you have a call on line two. Santana Lopez, she said she’s an old friend.”

Quinn stiffens at the mention of the familiar name. It's been years since they’ve last spoken. Still, just the sound of her name conjures up an anxious twitch beneath Quinn’s right eye. She rubs at it absently, silently berating herself for forgetting her old friend’s yearly routine.

“Send it to voicemail, Jane, and call Johnston’s assistant and have her tell him I’ll be right up.”

“Of course.” Jane backs out of her office, offering a curt nod before the door clicks shut behind her. Quinn slides her briefcase under the large oak desk that occupies most of the floor space. It’s more of a nuisance than anything, but when she first made associate it seemed like the most impressive thing in the world. She settles in behind it and examines the messages Jane had given her.

A blinking smudge of light at edge of her vision draws her forward towards her phone. A green light flashes next to the label “VOICEMAIL”. Out of habit she makes a grab for the receiver, haltingly she tucks it in against her cheek. 

She sits there, listening to the dial tone for a full five minutes before there’s a knock at her door.

“Come in,” she replies, hastily setting the receiver down.

Jane’s head peeks around the door. “Was there a call you’d like me to make, Ms. Fabray?”

Quinn clears her throat awkwardly. “No – no thank you.”

Jane gives her a quizzical look before giving a slight nod and stepping out.

Quinn slumps forward, pressing the heel of her palm against her right eye socket, willing away the nervous pulse still twitching beneath her skin. 

She sucks in one deep breath, and then falters. A long time ago her therapist taught her some breathing techniques to deal with this kind of anxiety, but that was another life, another Quinn. The blinking light on her receiver only strengthens that conviction. Santana is a remnant of that life and – 

She’ll deal with her later.

 

_When it comes to seeing Rachel after their run in at the bookstore, as they say, when it rains it pours. Except to Quinn, it feels like more than a pour. A monsoon might be a more apt description._

_She has no desire to be a part of the party that’s raging outside of her dorm room. It may be a Friday night, but she has an essay due Monday in her “Sociology of Conflict and War” class and a “Deviance and Social Control” midterm breathing down her neck as well. Her headphones do a poor job at drowning out the din in the hallway and just before midnight she hears a knock at her door._

_There’s an overwhelmingly large part of her that wants to ignore it. It’s at best some wasted, lost partygoer and at worst someone who actually knows her who’s just here to drag her outside. Three more sharp raps and she’s on her feet, tugging the door open only to reveal a very flushed, very alarmed looking Rachel Berry._

_“You have to be joking,” Quinn manages to force out through a clenched jaw._

_“I – “ Rachel peers inside her room. “I’m looking for Danny? Do you – God this is too bizarre. Sorry, I’ll just leave you to whatever it is you were doing.”_

_“Homework,” Quinn snaps. “And if you’re looking for Danny Zimmerman then you’re three doors too far,” she adds, letting up on the attitude a little._

_Rachel nods, swaying lightly in place. “Thanks, I’ll get out of your hair.”_

_She turns to go and Quinn fights a tiny internal battle before calling her back._

_“Danny’s gross, okay? You do not need to go there, he’s slept with like, half the floor.”_

_Rachel turns back and approaches her slowly. “Oh. Well, to be frank I was sort of hoping his friend Ryan might be with him,” she replies, not ducking her head in time to hide the blush staining her cheeks._

_Quinn laughs and shakes her head._

_“What?” Rachel asks, glancing up from the floor._

_“Nothing – “ Quinn says with another chuckle. “Just that Ryan and I – um. Well, we obviously still have – alarmingly similar taste in men.”_

_Rachel offers her a paper-thin smile. “I always sort of held out the hope that it was more so due to there being so few dateable boys at McKinley but - ” she trails off with a shrug. “Well I’ll leave you to it. Good luck with your - ?” She raises a questioning eyebrow._

_“Homework,” Quinn repeats firmly. “Goodnight.”_

_Any response to that is swallowed by the slam of her door._

_Barely a week later Quinn’s walking into the library, arms laden in textbooks, clutching a coffee the size of her head. The place is full to the brim. She wanders the floors for twenty minutes, finding tables and study carrels packed with students hitting midterm crunch time. All she needs is a seat and a square foot of table space and she’s happy, but apparently that’s too much to ask._

_Finally, in the back corner of the top floor she spots a half empty table. There’s a girl, swaddled in about eight layers of clothing, hunched over the table._

_Rachel gives herself away by the NYADA hoodie and the fact that she’s bopping along to music even though she’s not wearing any headphones._

_Quinn sighs, weighs her options before finally approaching Rachel’s table and dropping her books down. Rachel jumps about a foot in the air and manages to send pages of loose-leaf scattering across the table and onto the floor._

_Quinn takes the seat across from her and raises an eyebrow. “There are no tables left,” she whispers._

_Rachel’s hand is clutching at her chest and she sort of glares at Quinn. “Fine.”_

_They share the space silently for a few hours until around nine, when Rachel gathers her things and leaves._

_She doesn’t say goodbye. Quinn doesn’t expect her to._

_Two days later she’s sitting in a Starbucks debating whether or not to buy yet another chai tea latte when Rachel suddenly slumps into the seat across from her._

_“Uh hi,” Quinn says, cocking an eyebrow._

_“There are no other seats,” Rachel replies with a half-shrug. “It was you or that gentleman in the corner who’s wearing a cardboard cutout of a Bluetooth in his ear.”_

_Quinn takes a minute to scan the crowd until she finds the guy. She would have picked herself over him too._

_“I see.”_

_“Yeah well,” Rachel says, taking a long sip off her coffee. “At least I know what you’re capable of.”_

_Quinn’s blood starts to boil almost immediately, until she notices a grin tugging at the corner of Rachel’s mouth. She sort of chuckles a moment later when it’s clear that Quinn has figured out that she’s joking._

_“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Quinn replies finally, fixing Rachel with a mocking glare._

_Rachel makes a little humming noise before pulling a textbook from her bag. She rummages around a little before glancing up at Quinn and asking, “You wouldn’t happen to have a highlighter would you?”_

_Quinn rolls her eyes. “Yellow or green?”_

 

“Okay, Bob, I’ll talk to opposing counsel about it tomorrow,” Quinn says on her way out of Johnston’s office. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

His receptionist smiles at her on her way out the door and she gives a curt nod in her direction. When she arrives back at her office Jane is waiting for her with a cup from Starbucks.

“Your latte,” she says handing it to her. Jane is a good receptionist, Quinn told her once that she wanted a latte around 10:45 AM, and ever since there has been a latte waiting for her at just that time. “Do you want me to order you lunch?”

“No, thanks,” she replies sipping at her latte. It burns a little on the way down. “I’m eating lunch with the partners.”

“That’s exciting,” Jane smiles. “I bet they’re finally going to promote you.”

“Mhmm,” Quinn mutters in response, brushing past her into her office. There are three more messages waiting for her on her desk, each from clients she can’t afford to waste time on with the Richardson case fast approaching. She files them away in the cabinet behind her desk and picks out the Richardson file.

She manages to spend a whole twenty minutes mulling over the file before the flashing light of her voicemail draws her in again. Her nails drum lightly on her desk, and she makes a split second decision and reaches for the receiver. She punches in her voicemail code with shaking fingers and listens as the message crackles on.

_"Quinn! It’s Santana. Hi darling!”_

Her voice is dripping with such saccharine and clearly fake cheer that it makes Quinn’s fist clench around the receiver.

_“Thanks so much for all the calls and emails! It’s so great being kept up to speed on your life. I mean I’m surprised I even have time to sleep and eat with all the updates I’ve been getting from you. Just fucking kidding, bitch."_

Quinn winces and pulls the phone away from her ear as Santana’s voice gets louder, calling her a myriad of uncomplimentary names. 

“ _…so selfish, not to mention really fucking pathetic and – “_

Santana’s voice trails off, and there’s a few moments of crackling, loaded quiet until she hears a rush of air, a sigh.

_“Look I – fuck, Quinn. I don’t what to say to get through to you, I never have. I’m just calling to say – well, the same thing I said last year on this day, and the year before that, and the year before that. A shitty thing happened, Quinn, it did, but that doesn’t give you the right to cut everyone else out of your life. This shit isn’t you. You couldn’t fool me when you went all ‘Courtney-Love-batshit’ senior year, and you’re not fooling me now either. So pick up the fucking phone and call me. Or Brittany, even. Just – please call, okay? Bye.”_

She winces at the sound of Santana’s voice, sounding a little more wounded than she remembers last year’s voicemail sounding. It would be easy, to pick up the phone and call her and tell her all about the things she’s missed, few as they are. Quinn still knows her number by heart. 

Instead she hits the delete key and an automated voice informs her that she has no more new messages.

 

_“I have to go, Santana. I told Rachel I’d meet her like fifteen minutes ago.” She says into the payphone in the common room of her dorm._

_“I still think it’s weird that you hang out with Manhands,” Santana comments idly._

_“Believe me, no one is more surprised than I am,” Quinn says. “She’s kind of, not totally awful.”_

_“God that sentence is so unholy.”_

_“I know, right?” Quinn agrees. “But apparently New York City exists beyond the realm of common sense, so, she’s kind of my friend here. And friends don’t stand one another up. I really have to go.”_

_“Whatever. B says hi.”_

_“Bye, Santana.”_

_She replaces the receiver and rushes out into the street. Rachel said she’d be at their usual coffee shop around 4, and it’s already pushing 4:30. Rachel may have mellowed out considerably in the years since high school, but she doesn’t like to be kept waiting._

_Quinn weaves through the mob of people moving against her on Broadway and turns down Bleecker, walking for a few blocks before ducking inside Café Angelique. Rachel is sitting at their usual table by the window, her head bowed over a textbook._

_“Berry,” Quinn says sliding into the seat across from her._

_“You’re late,” she replies, not looking up from her book._

_“Santana was feeling awfully chatty today.”_

_“Chatty is not the word I would use to describe Santana.” Rachel looks up and cocks an eyebrow. “Psychotic, perhaps.”_

_“She’s just a little rough around the edges,” Quinn says, grinning._

_“Sophomore year she crazy glued all the books in my locker together.”_

_“In fairness she got a freshman to do it. Also it was my idea,” Quinn replies._

_“Right, how charming.” Rachel closes her book and takes a sip of her coffee. “I have something for you.”_

_“Is it that omelet I like? Because I haven’t eaten since this morning.”_

_“No, though I did also order you that,” Rachel laughs, before reaching down and rifling through her purse and pulling out a bulk pack of highlighters. “Just a little end of the year present. I kind of owe you about a thousand of these.”_

_Quinn laughs and grabs the package. “Well at least you’re acknowledging that you have a problem. That’s the first step on the road to recovery.”_

_Rachel rolls her eyes. “Don’t be dramatic, it’s unattractive on you.”_

_“I think the fact that you’ve been thieving these things from me for the better part of a year warrants a little drama. I’m not made of money Rachel.”_

_“They cost 65 cents at the bookstore. Plus, don’t you get an employee discount?” Rachel asks, batting her eyes innocently. Bringing up that particular encounter is sort of Rachel’s favorite joke._

_Quinn tosses a sugar packet at her, grinning triumphantly when it connects with Rachel’s forehead and falls to the ground._

_The waitress comes by before Rachel can retaliate. She drops off Quinn’s coffee and omelet, and sets down a salad in front of Rachel. “Thanks,” Quinn mumbles in her direction before turning her focus back to Rachel._

_“So what are you doing for the summer? Back to Lima?” she asks, blowing on a piece of omelet before popping it in her mouth._

_“My dads rent a condo in Palm Desert, so I’m staying with them for a month and then coming back to the city for the rest,” Rachel replies mixing her salad. “I actually haven't spent a summer in Lima since moving out here.”_

_“Me neither.”_

_Judy tends to come to the city for the occasional visit and that’s really the extent of her contact with Lima._

_“What are you going to do in the city all summer?” Quinn asks._

_“Maybe take some classes. I also need to track down a roommate for next year.”_

_“No dorms?” Quinn asks around a mouthful of food._

_“Quinn, don’t talk with your mouth full,” Rachel says, in the fussiest, most annoying way possible. It’s a little unnerving for Quinn that nowadays she barely reacts to things like that from Rachel. “I’m done with dorm life. Plus I think if I get one more noise complaint they’ll kick me out regardless.”_

_“You do have some volume control issues.”_

_Rachel laughs. “Yeah, yeah. Anyways, I have some leads on places, but even with my dads’ help there’s no way I'll be able to afford a place on my own. Hence the search for a roommate.”_

_Quinn chews slowly and swallows. An idea is worming its way through her brain. Rachel furrows her brow at the length of her silence._

_“We could be roommates,” Quinn says carefully after a few moments._

_Rachel rolls her eyes. “Sure, Quinn. I hear most mortal enemies have a habit of shacking up.”_

_“I’m serious,” Quinn presses. “We’re hardly mortal enemies these days, I think Carina Grey has bumped me from the top spot.”_

_“I hate that bitch,” Rachel agrees venomously._

_“We could totally live together. I know my mom would help with rent, and my scholarship should cover some of it.”_

_Rachel eyes her warily. “Are you sure this is wise?”_

_“Not really,” Quinn admits. “But consider for a moment, that I’m not Quinn Fabray, okay? I’m just a girl you met in college, who you occasionally meet for coffee and shamelessly steal highlighters from - ”_

_“Hey!” Rachel cries, kicking her shin under the table._

_Quinn laughs. “I’m serious. If you just forget anything that’s happened between us from the ages of 13 to 18, our track record isn’t exactly terrible. I think we could live together.”_

_The realization is somewhat startling to her, even as she’s explaining it to Rachel. For all their years trying to force each other into certain roles – enemy, teammate, rival – for the first time ever they’ve managed to stumble into a dynamic that at least feels honest. They’re far from the people they used to be, so Quinn sees no point in pretending they’re still two highschoolers squabbling over boys and popularity._

_“What do you say?” Quinn asks._

_Rachel’s silent for a few moments before her face splits into a grin._

_“Let’s do it.”_

 

At around noon there’s a knock at her door. It’s unusual because generally nobody gets into her office without Jane informing her first.

“Come in,” she calls, and the door swings open to reveal Robert Cuddy, the firm’s oldest partner.

“Hello, Quinn,” he says pleasantly. Quinn had spent her first few years with the firm terrified of Cuddy. According to his reputation he was absolutely ruthless and she did her best to avoid him. However wound up taking her under his wing on a tricky medical malpractice suit, and she had found his bark to be much worse than his bite.

“Hi, Cuddy,” she replies. “What can I do for you?”

“Well as I hear it you are joining us for lunch this afternoon, and I thought I could accompany you on the walk down to Joe’s.”

Joe’s is an upscale pub on the ground floor of the building that housed Cuddy, Hall & Maguire. It went without saying that most working lunches took place there.

“That sounds great.” She manages a smile and ducks her head beneath her desk to grab her briefcase. She stands and says, “Shall we?”

He smiles and gestures. “After you.”

She leads him across the floor and into the elevator, reaching past him once he’s inside to hit the button “L” for lobby. 

As the door slides shut Cuddy speaks. “Quinn, have I ever told you how long I’ve been a lawyer?”

He had worked for a smaller firm for fifteen years, and then founded this one about twenty-five years ago. She’d done her research on him in her early days with the firm.

She answers, “No.”

“Not counting my articling year, I have been at this for almost forty years.”

“That’s quite impressive.” 

“Yes I suppose it is.” Cuddy chuckles. “Forty years is a long time to do anything, let alone do what we do. It’s an incredibly draining job, as I’m sure you know. Each of us sacrifices a lot to do what we do.”

“I know, Sir.”

“Do you?” he muses. “You’re still awfully young, Quinn. You were one of the youngest lawyers to ever make associate at this firm. But, I wonder if you are quite ready for what this job entails.”

“Cuddy, have I done something to make you think that I’m not prepared? Have I not been pulling my weight?” she stutters, a slight feeling of dread needling under her skin.

“No, no, of course not.” He reaches over and pats her arm. “You’re an extraordinarily talented lawyer, Quinn. Even back when you were just starting out, you’ve always shown such promise, especially in my field. I have no doubt that you will go incredibly far in this business, should you choose to.”

She breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Sir.”

“But it seems you are reaching a crossroads in your career. You’re a good lawyer, Quinn, but I just want you to know that to be a great lawyer, it takes a lot of work and a lot of sacrifice.”

“I understand,” she says slowly, unsure of what Cuddy is getting at.

“Wonderful.” He smiles at her. “Because when we step in that room the partners are going to outline a very important job offer for you.” Her heart rate picks up as a bell chimes and the elevator doors slide open.

She follows Cuddy as he walks off in the direction of Joe’s.

“Quinn.” He turns back. “Forgive me, but, all that talent and promise I just told you about?”

She nods.

“I’m going to spend the next hour taking credit for it.” He grins and holds the door of the pub open for her. The partners are all sitting in an oversized booth near the windows. In front of each of them is a champagne flute. Maguire extends one her way.

“Quinn Fabray, woman of the hour.”

 

_”Okay so it’s 8F right?” Quinn says into the cell phone pressed precariously between her ear and shoulder._

_“Yeah it is. I’ll come open the door for you.”_

_“You could always come down and help me with the – “ she begins, but Rachel hangs up before she can finish. She presses the boxes in her arms against the wall in order to free a hand to grab her cell phone and slide it in the back pocket of her jeans._

_Around the fifth flight of stairs she begins to seriously doubt her decision to move in with Rachel. She’d called early in August to tell Quinn that she’d found a reasonably priced two-bedroom apartment. However she’d neglected to tell her it was on the eighth floor of a building without a working elevator._

_By the time she gets to the eighth floor she feels as if she might just sit down and die, right there on the cheap carpeting. She stumbles down the hallway, panting, and searches for their new apartment. Down at the end of the hallway a small head pokes out of an open door._

_“Hey!” Rachel calls out. “It’s down here.”_

_“Oh sure, just give me like an hour or so to get there,” Quinn says, raggedly gulping down air._

_“Quinn, you really need to do more cardio,” Rachel chides as she approaches the door._

_“Shut your mouth, Berry,” she mutters, brushing past her into the apartment. She drops the boxes unceremoniously and slides down against the wall, panting heavily. Out of the corner of her eye she can see Rachel’s foot tapping out an impatient beat._

_“Are you quite done catching your breath?” she says, knocking her knee against Quinn’s shoulder. “I want to show you the apartment.”_

_“Gimme like two seconds,” Quinn groans, and pushes herself up off the ground. “Okay, show away.”_

_“Fantastic.” Rachel grabs her arm and drags her out of the small entryway into what appears to be a stove in a living room or a couch in a kitchen. “So I don’t really know what to call this room. It’s kind of the living room and kitchen.”_

_“So I see.”_

_Rachel tugs her into a short hallway with two doors._

_“This is my bedroom.” Rachel opens a door and gestures inside. There’s a double bed, a small dresser and approximately three square feet of floor space. Her window faces the courtyard far below._

_“It’s nice?” Quinn ventures._

_“Wait till you see yours.” Rachel opens the second door. “It’s smaller, but you have the good window. You also have a closet,” Rachel adds, with no small amount of jealousy in her voice._

_Smaller turns out to be quite an understatement. A single bed is pushed against the far wall, under the window. There’s a sliding door, half open revealing a small closet. Quinn walks over to the window to check out the view. The only perk of living on the eighth floor, she figures, is that her view is actually pretty amazing. A smile tugs at the corners of her lips as she watches the Hudson River creep along just a few blocks from their building._

_“There’s more,” Rachel says and Quinn turns. Rachel leaves the room and walks back in to her own. Quinn’s glances over her shoulder momentarily, she pauses when her eyes catch on a freighter meandering down the river._

_“Quinn,” Rachel calls, and she finally follows after her._

_Rachel is standing in her room, in front of a door that Quinn hadn’t originally noticed. She opens it to reveal a small bathroom containing a shower, a toilet and a small sink._

_“Don’t tell me,” Quinn says with a wince._

_“Yes.” Rachel nods, clearly about as thrilled as Quinn is. “The only way in to the bathroom is through my bedroom.”_

_“Well that’ll be interesting.”_

_Rachel hums her agreement, and leads Quinn back into the living room slash kitchen. For the first time she takes notice of the plain cream-colored walls and the hardwood beneath her feet._

_“Hey,” Quinn says, moving to sit on the ground. “The floors are nice.”_

_“Yeah,” Rachel agrees. “That was one of the main reasons I picked this place.”_

_Quinn grins and makes a grab for her, managing to pull her down next to her by the sleeve. She tips back until she’s lying, staring up at the stark white ceiling._

_“Walls are sort of plain,” she comments idly as Rachel lies next to her, their arms brushing together._

_“I already spoke to the landlord about it. We’re allowed to paint, I actually picked some up this morning.”_

_“What color?” Quinn mutters softly, sinking further into the floor._

_“Yellow.”_

_“Okay,” she sighs tiredly. “Catnap? Then more boxes.”_

_“Quinn, I’m not sure that’s advisable. Leaving your boxes in the lobby seems a little –“_

_“Berry,” Quinn cuts her off. “Catnap.”_

_“But – “_

_Quinn leans over and presses her palm over Rachel’s mouth._

_“Fifteen minutes, Rachel.”_

_She rolls her eyes, but nods, so Quinn pulls her hand away. Rachel stays quiet and Quinn eyes drift shut._

_“Quinn?” Rachel says quietly after a few moments._

_“Yes?” she sighs, a little irritated._

_“Welcome home.”_

_Quinn plays the words back in her head a few times before letting out a chuckle. “Yeah, you too, Berry.”_

 

Quinn accepts the champagne flute from Maguire. “Thank you Sir, and nice to see you all.” She nods in greeting at the other partners seated at the table. 

“Please, sit.” Maguire gestures to the seat across from him. Maguire is one of the other founding partners of the firm. Cuddy pulls her chair out for her; she thanks him quietly and takes it. He moves to take the empty seat to her left.

“So Quinn, I assume Cuddy has informed you of why you’re here?” Maguire asks.

“Actually Bill, I didn’t quite get to the details.” Cuddy smiles in Quinn’s direction. “You may want to start from the beginning.”

“Will do.” Maguire nods. “So, Quinn. As you know, Cuddy here is getting to be quite ancient.” A laugh sounds around the table, even Cuddy chuckles. Maguire winks at him. “As such, he has decided that he wishes to retire within the next two years.”

“Oh,” Quinn replies, unable to keep the tone of disappointment out of her voice. Cuddy is by far her favorite partner. The idea of not seeing him around the office, or ever seeing him in the courtroom again makes something very like regret bloom in her chest.

“Not to worry, Quinn, I expect I’ll still be hosting the Christmas party for years to come.” He smiles, and the partners laugh, a few raising their champagne glasses in his direction.

“Yes, so, the time has come for us to choose a lawyer to take over his practice,” Maguire says. “As you know Cuddy is one of the most reputable medical malpractice litigators in New York.”

Cuddy rolls his eyes and sighs exaggeratedly. “Bill, get to the point will you?”

“Right. Well Quinn, Cuddy has always been a fan of your work, as have we all. Each of us would love to have you take up our mantle.” Maguire gestures vaguely around the table. “But Cuddy assures us that medical malpractice is where your strength lies.”

A flush rises in her cheeks and she shoots a small smile at Cuddy.

“So for the next two years, if you decided that it interests you, you’ll work solely under Cuddy. When the time comes for him to retire, you’ll be made partner in his place.” 

She swallows hard, even two years from now she’ll be the youngest partner in the firm, and one of the very small number of women who have ever been offered a position.

“But sir,” she replies. “There are several associates with years more experience than I have and – “

“We realize that, Quinn,” Maguire interjects. “We’re an old firm, and we think that you’ll bring a great deal of much needed energy to the job. We’ve given this a lot of thought, and we’re confident that you are the woman for the job.”

“Are you sure?” she blurts and the partners laugh good-naturedly.

“Absolutely,” Cuddy replies.

“What do you say, Fabray?” a partner down the table asks. Ten pairs of eyes rest heavily on her. There’s a thick moment of silence. She licks her lips.

“I – I’ll do it.”

 

_“Quinn Fabray, get out of the shower now!” Rachel shouts as she pounds on the door._

_“Just a few more minutes,” Quinn calls lightly._

_“I am dead serious.” More pounding. “I told you I had an audition today! I need to shower now or I'll be late!”_

_“Well then maybe you should have gotten up earlier,” she replies, massaging shampoo into her hair._

_“I left a sign on the door reserving the shower!” Rachel shouts. A piece of paper comes shooting under the door, skipping along the tiling and coming to rest against the base of the toilet. On it in giant (sparkly) purple lettering it reads_ RESERVED: From 8:30 to 9:30 AM for PRE-AUDITION SHOWER! _Quinn rolls her eyes and goes back to showering._

_“Berry, I'll be done soon. Chill out.”_

_“Quinn, it’s 8:45! You’re clearly impinging on my reserved time!” Rachel pounds on the door several more times._

_“Sorry I don’t acknowledge things written in glitter glue because I’m not six years old,” Quinn calls irritably. The incessant pounding and the fact that she hasn’t had coffee yet aren’t doing much for her mood._

_She hears Rachel let out a frustrated growl and the sound of footsteps retreating into the apartment. Thinking she’s won the argument Quinn sighs contentedly and reaches for her razor. Before long footsteps come pounding up to the bathroom door and Rachel knocks briskly._

_“Rachel, what can I do for you?” Quinn asks sarcastically._

_“You can get the hell out of the shower,” she growls._

_“That, I can’t do.” In truth, she’s pretty much done, but Rachel is being unreasonably childish in her opinion, so she intends to draw it out._

_“You know what?” Rachel shouts. “Fine. Maybe I’ll just go eat breakfast.”_

_“That sounds great Rach. Why don’t you?”_

_“I grabbed some cereal so I’ll just sit here and wait.”_

_Quinn rolls her eyes and runs a razor up her calf._

_“You know,” Rachel calls. “This cereal is really good. I’ve never been one for Special K, but the almonds in this are actually really lovely.”_

_Her words sink in slowly._

_“You wouldn’t,” Quinn says grimly._

_In lieu of an answer Rachel slides another piece of paper under the door. Quinn peers down at it, it’s a ripped lid of a cereal box. It clearly reads ‘Special K: Vanilla Almond’._

_“Rachel Berry!” Quinn lets loose a hoarse scream. “That’s my fucking cereal!”_

_“Oh is it? Are you sure?”_

_“Berry, I swear if you finish it I will murder you! That’s my last box!”_

_“Oh I’m sorry Quinn, I had no idea,” she replies. “I’ve just finished the whole box.”_

_Quinn slams the water to ‘off’ and wraps herself in a towel before throwing open the door. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she sneers. She’s sitting on the floor in front of the door cramming fistfuls of cereal in her mouth right out of the box._

_“I’m waiting for the shower.” Rachel shrugs, flakes of cereal slipping past her lips and falling to the floor._

_“God, you are such a lunatic!” Quinn cries, ripping the nearly empty box from her hands. “Take your fucking shower! Not that it will make a difference, you won’t get the part anyways.” It’s a low blow, and there’s a part of her that’s immediately sorry, but there’s also a larger, furious part of her that wants nothing more than to slap Rachel in her cereal-stealing mouth._

_Rachel shoots to her feet, eyes flashing. “You know what, Quinn? You’re a bitch.” She shoves a finger into Quinn’s chest. “You were a bitch in high school, and you’re a bitch now.”_

_“Whatever," Quinn grinds out, before turning on her heel and stalking off to her room._

_As the day wears on, she begins to feel steadily guiltier about her fight with Rachel. She struggles to stay focused on her classes, but the things they’d said to each other nag at her conscience. There’s something about the way that she’d conducted herself that reminds her a little too much of the person she was back in Lima. Dr. Kandrack will have a total field day when Quinn tells her._

_She checks her phone virtually nonstop during the day, hoping to hear from Rachel, but nothing comes through. Quinn doesn’t blame her, because though she feels badly, what Rachel had said to her stung too, and she can’t bring herself to reach out either._

_When she gets home that night she’s greeted by an empty apartment. “Rach?” she calls cautiously, to no response. She flips the lights on in the kitchen and her eyes immediately fall on her kitchen table. On it is a stack of five boxes of Special K: Vanilla Almond. Next to them: a note from Rachel._

__I’m sorry about this morning. I was being childish and unreasonable. You’re not a bitch. In the future I’ll use a different medium to reserve the shower, as clearly glitter glue doesn’t cut it. The audition went awful, I hope that fact, and this cereal will make you more willing to forgive me.

Rachel

PS: I work late tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow.

 

_Quinn grins and shoots off a quick text to Rachel, apologizing and thanking her for the cereal. The clock on the microwave reads 7:45. Rachel usually gets off around midnight on the nights she works late. Quinn grabs a bowl and milk, and pours herself some cereal before settling in on the couch. She flicks on the TV and picks a movie that’ll last her until Rachel gets home._

_It’s been a weird day, and she misses her roommate._

 

“Congratulations, Quinn.” 

Once she stands from the table after lunch each partner follows suit, taking their turn to congratulate her, some a little grudgingly.

“Well, it should be interesting,” Hall mutters as he takes her hand briefly before heading off towards the elevators. Cuddy places a hand on her elbow and guides her off into the lobby. The two of them make their way to the elevators. After a few moments one arrives and they step in. Cuddy hits the button for the eleventh floor for himself, and the tenth for Quinn.

“Thank you,” she manages to murmur quietly. She has this potent feeling swirling in her head, like vertigo, and she realizes that it’s the first time in a long time that she’s felt this - this _rush_ of accomplishment.

“My pleasure,” he replies lightly.

“No, I mean, thank you for this,” she repeats seriously. “This opportunity. I’m so grateful, and I’m really looking forward to working with you for the next two years.”

“As am I, Ms. Fabray,” Cuddy says. “Don’t be so nervous, Quinn. You have nothing to worry about.”

“I know,” she replies, though she’s not so sure. “But I still have a lot to learn.”

“Two years is a long time,” he replies lightly. “More than enough time to prepare yourself for what lies ahead. And you have the best teacher I know.” He grins.

She returns his smile. “I agree.”

The elevator door opens at her floor and she steps out.

“Again, thank you Sir,” she says emphatically. Cuddy just smiles as the doors slide shut. As she makes her way across the floor to her office, several associates and even a few of the braver articling students step forward to congratulate her. Word apparently travels fast. 

As she reaches her office Jane is waiting for her at her desk. “Congratulations, Ms. Fabray. That’s such wonderful news,” she says brightly.

“Thank you Jane.” She tilts her head. “Any messages?”

“One from Columbia about one of the articling students. They faxed over an evaluation.” Jane rifles through a small stack of pink memo papers. “The rest are about the Richardson case.”

Quinn accepts the messages, thanks Jane and heads into her office. The Richardson file is still open on her desk. She runs her eyes over the papers again. It’s a major case that has received a lot of press. It’s a class action suit against the Richardson investment firm, one of the largest in the city. They stand accused of promoting unfair home loans in the state. When Goldman Sachs had been accused of the same in 2009, the suit had been settled to the tune of 60 million dollars. Richardson, however, refuses to settle out of court.

For the past two years this case has pretty much been her life. Discovery had taken over a year, with the massive amounts of emails and documents that had to be sorted through for relevant information. But in two months the case was scheduled to go to trial.

Suddenly it occurred to her that it would likely be the last case of it’s kind she would see in her career. After it was settled she’d begin her work with Cuddy, only taking on medical malpractice suits.

She’s shaken from her thoughts by the sound of her Blackberry vibrating insistently from within her drawer. She retrieves it and sees that she has two text messages, both from the same unknown number. The area code is New York, but she deletes them both without bothering to read them. If it’s someone important they’ll call the office.

She turns back to the case file and begins read over the facts for what must be the millionth time. A glance at the clock tells her it’s 3:15. Lunch ran late, she probably wouldn’t be able to leave until six or seven tonight.

Gradually the euphoria from her job offer fades, leaving her to the persistent ache in her chest. She winces and rubs at her rib cage absently. 

Still, she’s strangely grateful for what had been a temporary respite. She arches her back over her chair, cracking away the sore spots, and settles back in to work.

 

_”Quinn, can you believe this!” Rachel slurs as she throws an arm around Quinn’s neck. “We’re officially done our undergraduate careers!”_

_A stupid grin spreads lazily across Quinn’s face as she leans into Rachel’s side and wraps an arm around her waist. “Victory!” she shouts raising her fist into the air. Rachel continues to tug her along down the street towards their building._

_Each of them finished their last final exams today, Rachel at noon and Quinn at two in the afternoon. Immediately after she’d finished Quinn had met the Rachel at a bar in the Village. The two of them were plastered before happy hour even began._

_They leave the bar just before midnight and neither of them can see straight._

_“Excuse me, ma’am, sir,” Rachel says to an older couple waiting next to them for the “Walk” sign to light up. “But you are currently looking at two gradu – well providing we pass our exams, but probably - graduates of New York University.” Rachel dips into a low curtsy, the arm around Quinn’s neck pulling her down with her. The two of them stumble on the way back up and Quinn has to grab a stop sign to steady them._

_The older couple gives them tight smiles and turn away._

_“Well, that was rude,” Rachel says, in a deafeningly loud whisper. The couple shoots a glare back at her just as the “Walk” light blinks on. They take off at a brisk pace and Quinn turns her head and giggles into Rachel’s hair._

_“Come on, let’s go home!” she laughs, lacing her fingers with Rachel’s and tugging. They set off down the street at a halting pace. Mostly because Rachel keeps stopping to inform people of their academic triumph._

_Before long they reach their apartment, and after no small amount of struggle, manage to get the door unlocked. They stumble inside and Rachel almost immediately collapses on the ground._

_“Quinn, kindly come down here,” Rachel says with a crooked grin._

_Quinn chuckles and follows suit. “It’s nice down here. Less spinny,” she observes faintly._

_Rachel hums in agreement. “What time is it?”_

_“Almost midnight,” Quinn replies, pulling out her cell phone. “Why do we own furniture?”_

_“Quinn!” Rachel giggles. “As a fellow graduate I would expect you to understand that people need furniture to – “_

_“No!” she cuts her off, laughing. “I mean, we barely use it. We always sit on the floor.”_

_“Oh,” Rachel replies, her eyebrows knitting together. “You’re right. Well. Whatever. Is it midnight yet?”_

_Quinn peers at her phone again. “11:59.”_

_“Oh!” Rachel cries and sits up abruptly. “C’mere.” She tugs Quinn into a seated position by the arm._

_“10… 9…” Rachel begins dramatically._

_“Rach, what are you doing?”_

_“Quinn, this is just like New Years Eve! In with the old and out with the new. Tomorrow we'll no longer be students at NYU. 8… 7… Quinn count!” Rachel swats at her arm._

_“Fine. 6…5…,” they count in unison. “4…3…”_

_Rachel’s face is getting gradually more excited, Quinn glances at her phone, but doesn’t have the heart to tell her that it’s already 12:01._

_“2…1…”_

_“Happy New Year!” Rachel yells, clapping excitedly. Quinn whoops and cheers while Rachel mimes blowing into a noisemaker before they both dissolve into manic laughter. After a few moments they manage to pull themselves together a little, still breathing hard._

_“Happy New Year, Rachel,” Quinn says with a grin._

_“Happy New Year, Quinn.”_

_Maybe it’s because it’s tradition, or maybe it’s because school is over and Quinn is drunk, but when Rachel leans in, she meets her halfway._

_She must have left the light on when she went to bed. Surely, that's the only reason it's so bright in her room, she hasn't been asleep long enough for it to be morning. Just to be certain, she blinks one eye open and realizes it’s actually the sun flooding through her window. She groans and burrows deeper into her bed, wincing at the sharp ache in her head._

_Even under the covers it’s too bright, and now that she’s awake, the pain in her head and stomach are too persistent to ignore. She sighs and throws back her covers; as soon as she’s on her feet her head begins to throb painfully. All she can process in this moment is that Rachel’s room has blinds, and a comfortable bed, and before she knows it her feet have carried her across the hall._

_She opens the door as quietly as possible and tiptoes across the floor. Rachel rolls over to face her when she slips into the empty half of the bed._

_“Ouch,” she groans. “My insides hurt.”_

_“I know,” Quinn replies, her voice gravelly. “Mine too. My room is so bright.”_

_“I think I might actually be dying,” Rachel says, wincing. “Please get someone really famous to perform at my funeral. Make sure that bitch Carina Grey doesn’t show up,” she mumbles._

_Quinn lets out a small laugh, and then groans as her stomach turns over. “I need sleep. And maybe Gatorade. And a new liver.”_

_“Sleep.” Rachel nods. “I think there is a water bottle on my bedside table.”_

_“God, yes.” Quinn reaches for the bottle and nearly drains it in one long gulp. She screws the cap back on and settles in under the covers, the bottle tucked in beneath her chin._

_“Quinn?” Rachel asks, her voice low and uncertain._

_Quinn hums a little to acknowledge her._

_“Did we make out a little bit last night?”_

_The words ring true almost immediately. Her memory is hazy, colored by too many mango margaritas, but not gone. She distinctly remembers wishing Rachel a Happy New Year and then kissing her. Or maybe Rachel kissed her. She can’t remember, but thinks distantly that later on that detail will probably matter quite a lot._

_“I think so,” she replies carefully. “Well, that’s new.”_

_“Yeah,” Rachel says slowly, drawing the word out. “In the interest of full disclosure I threw up at the bar before we left. I rinsed and everything but…”_

_“Ew.” Quinn wrinkles her nose, but then another memory comes flooding back. “Oh my god, I threw up too!” she cries, smacking Rachel lightly on the shoulder. “This is the grossest thing that’s ever happened to me.”_

_“It’s hard to top getting puked on in front of an entire school assembly, but yes, it’s not exactly hygienic.” Rachel looks horrified. “We need to brush our teeth now.”_

_“I can’t move,” Quinn whines._

_“Me neither,” Rachel replies. “Let’s just pretend none of that ever happened and go to sleep?” she asks hopefully._

_“Yes please,” Quinn agrees._

 

At four thirty Jane informs her that Derek Lafferty, one of the other associates is waiting outside your door. She gives her a look and Quinn rolls her eyes.

“Send him in,” Quinn says grudgingly. Jane nods and shoots her a sympathetic look on her way out the door.

“Mr. Lafferty, come in,” Jane says, holding the door allowing the man to enter the office. Lafferty had graduated from Columbia two years before Quinn did. They both wound up at Cuddy, Hall & Maguire, and he hasn’t left Quinn alone since.

“Ms. Fabray.” He inclines his head and smirks at her. The guy is such a slime ball, but he’s a colleague so she puts up with him. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

“Thank you.” She smiles tightly.

“I have to admit,” he moves across the room and takes a seat in front of her desk, “quite a few of us were very surprised to hear about your job offer.”

“I assure you I was equally surprised.”

He nods and eyes Quinn for a long moment. “Well, I think we should celebrate.”

“No, we really don’t – “

He cuts her off with a clap of his hands. “Dinner, Fabray! You and I will be having dinner together tonight.”

“I’m very busy,” she says, frantically shaking her head. The prospect of going on a date with him was bad enough on a regular day, but today? It would just be too cruel.

He’s grinning at her and she’s desperately praying for some way out of this. For once, it seems her prayers are answered. Jane’s voice comes crackling over the speaker of her phone.

“Ms. Fabray, you have a call on line one.”

Quinn eagerly reaches for the phone. “Put them through, please.”

“Um, Ms. Fabray, I’m not sure you – “

“Jane,” she snaps sternly. “Put them through.”

“O-Okay,” she stutters. 

Quinn covers the mouthpiece with her hand. “Sorry Derek, this is a pretty important call.”

He nods his head. Apparently he’ll wait.

Quinn holds back a sigh and speaks into the phone. “Quinn Fabray.”

“Quinn?” A familiar voice comes through the earpiece, sending a lightning quick shudder down her spine.

“Yes,” she manages to force out. “Just one moment.” Derek raises an eyebrow at her. 

“Derek.” She pulls the phone away from her ear. “This is a really important client, it sounds like I’ll be here pretty late. We’ll have dinner another time.”

He nods, and gives her a slight glare before adding, “I’m sure we will.” With that he stands and leaves her office. Quinn lets out a small sigh of relief. The relief however, is temporary as she hears a tiny voice coming through the phone, calling her name.

She holds the receiver at arms length and considers her options. On the one hand, she’s just accidently broken years of silence with one of her oldest friends, how hard could it be to just keep talking? But on the other…

She’s only a little guilty at the sound of the dial tone when her finger disconnects the call.

 

_A text comes buzzing loudly through her phone, causing her to clutch her back pocket in alarm. A girl sitting at one of the tables near the circulation desk glares. Quinn winces and tugs her phone from her pocket. Strictly speaking, she’s not supposed to have it on while she’s working. It’s one of the few rules imposed on employees of the library._

_A glance at the screen informs her that it’s Rachel texting her._

**5:14:** Hey Q, there’s a letter from CU for you at home. Sorry in advance.

_Dread floods her body immediately. She’s been waiting to hear from Columbia about her application for weeks._

_Rachel had apologized, and that can only mean one thing. Tears sting at her eyes and her cheeks grow hot. The way she sees it, her life is pretty much over. Ever since her first Criminology class at NYU she’s been entirely set on becoming a lawyer. She glances with teary eyes at the clock on her phone; she still has an hour until her shift is over._

_By the time she makes it back to her apartment, it’s early evening; the darkness pressing along the edges of the sky matches her mood perfectly. Even though the elevator had been fixed a few weeks after they’d moved in, Quinn opts to take the stairs. She feels the need to prolong the time before she has to read her letter, wanting to stay in a pre-rejection world as long as she can. Finally after receiving a very strange look from a neighbor as they pass her shuffling down the hall at a glacial pace, she unlocks her door and steps inside._

_Her eyes fall immediately on a large white envelope on the kitchen table. She reaches for it hesitantly. It’s surprisingly heavy for a rejection letter she thinks distantly, running her shaking fingers idly over the Columbia University crest in the top corner._

_She lets out a sigh and flips the envelope over, only to find that the seal has already been broken. In small, neat letters just under the split seal, a note from Rachel._

__SORRY! I just couldn’t wait for you to get home to open it. Don’t be angry! Congrats Q, I knew you’d get it. –Rachel __

_A smile creeps slowly across her lips as she reads the note again and again. Finally she tugs the envelope back to reveal a small stack of pamphlets and a thick brochure. On top is a letter from the dean informing her of her acceptance._

_As she reads through it, she hears the scraping click of the apartment door opening._

_“Quinn?” Rachel calls, there’s the muffled sound of bags being dropped to the floor._

_“Right here,” Quinn replies, her eyes stuck firmly on the paper clutched in her hands._

_“Hi!” Rachel says brightly, moving to stand next to her. “Congrats! Are you mad at me?”_

_Quinn laughs. “It’s really hard for me to feel anything but super, super happy right now.”_

_“Good, I was hoping you’d feel that way.” Rachel wraps an arm around her waist. Quinn turns to face her, she’s smiling, her eyes bright. “I’m really proud of you Q.”_

_“Are you crying?” Quinn asks with a laugh._

_“No.” Rachel bites her lip. “Well a little, but so what! My best friend just got accepted to Columbia Law!”_

_“You’re a nerd,” Quinn comments, cocking an eyebrow._

_“You’re the one who just got into law school. I think the argument could be made that you’re the nerd here, Quinn.”_

_Quinn rolls her eyes and pulls Rachel into a hug. Rachel exhales softly and wraps both her arms around her waist. “Just to reiterate,” she mutters, a hand fisting in the back of Quinn’s t-shirt. “Really, really proud of you.”_

 

By the time Quinn finishes up for the day, the sun is only just peeking over the edges of the sky. She’s one of the last to leave her floor, only a few associates still working away in their offices. The elevator doesn’t stop once on its way down to the lobby, making her all the more aware of how late it is. 

A wall of thick, heavy air hits her as she steps out of the building. There are dark clouds gathering somewhere over Brooklyn, but she isn’t too impressed. It’ll storm tonight, the heat will break for two or three hours, but by the time the city wakes in the morning it’ll be as humid and hot as ever. 

Raindrops begin to hit the pavement around her and she pulls at the collar of her blazer, setting off at a brisk pace in the direction of the subway. The closest one is barely a block away, and she’s momentarily grateful as the rain starts to fall in earnest just as she takes the first steps down into the underground.

Only a few short minutes pass before her train arrives, screeching to halt before her feet. The car she steps into is practically empty, the working crowd having headed home hours ago. It’s still too early for the crush of young people heading out for the night, so she’s nearly alone. She takes a seat near the door and shuts her eyes tightly for a few moments. It’s been a long day, and she knows the chances of getting any sleep tonight are slim to none. The familiar ache in her chest flares up now that she doesn’t have the precisely annotated Richardson case file sitting in her lap.

Thankfully the ride is a short one, but by the time she steps back out onto the street it’s practically pouring. Thunder rumbles overhead as she walks briskly down the street. 

The doorman is waiting, already pulling the door open for her as her feet connect with the stone steps leading into the lobby. “Good evening, Ms. Fabray.”

She shoots him a tight smile and makes her way to the elevator, little raindrops fall from the hem of her skirt, scattering along the floor behind her. The elevator door slides open just seconds after she presses the ‘up’ button. As the elevator begins to rise, she imagines all the other apartments in her building, all the families settling in for dinner as she rushes past floor after floor. Most days she doesn’t envy them. Today, she does.

Before long the doors slide open and she steps out. She begins fishing for her keys in her bag as she makes her way down the hall. A small noise in front of her causes her to look up from her bag. She immediately wishes she hadn’t.

It’s funny, in the saddest way possible, that after all these years the long, graceful limbs and the shock of blond hair spilling out over her slender shoulders are still so familiar to Quinn that for a moment she forgets how out of place she actually is. Sharp blue eyes meet and hold her gaze.

“Quinn.” The voice sounds in her ear, for the second time today.

“Brittany.”

 

_He’s sweet, and completely harmless. The guy’s name is_ Toby _, for god’s sake. Quinn can’t remember when exactly ‘sweet’ and ‘harmless’ became her type, but if she had to guess it was probably sometime after getting knocked up by a boy with a mohawk, and dating a 40 year old skateboarder who went by the name ‘Cheeto’. It’s strange to think that if they’d only met a few years later, her and Finn probably would have stood a chance at making it. Toby and Finn are not dissimilar. Tall, a little goofy, and Toby has been nothing but polite and charming since they’d met, about three hours ago at a bar just off-campus._

_“We have to be quiet,” she says through a laugh as his hands span her waist, pressing her against the wall of the entryway. He scrapes his teeth down her collarbone as she clumsily kicks the door shut behind them. “My roommate is probably sleeping.”_

_He laughs and begins to tug at the button of her jeans. Quinn fists her hand in his t-shirt and drags him into her room, taking care to shut the door behind them._

_An hour later she slips out of bed and slides on a pair of NYU sweats and the first t-shirt she picks up off the floor. She tiptoes out of the room and shuts the door quietly behind her, careful not to rouse the boy passed out in her bed._

_It’s not the first time that she’s brought someone home to the apartment. In fact, in the years her and Rachel have been living together, each of them have gone through their fair shares of men. From one night stands (she has the distinct feeling Toby will be one) to the occasional casual relationship._

_As she stands in the hallway in front of Rachel’s door however, for the first time she feels incredibly awkward about the whole thing. It’s been a long time since either of them have brought someone home. Since before the night they kissed. Rachel has been adamant that they pretend it never happened, and until now, Quinn’s been happy to oblige. Something strangely like guilt settles thickly at the back of her throat, making it hard to swallow._

_In a perfect world, she could just avoid Rachel for the next couple of days until the awkwardness blows over, but she has to use the bathroom badly. Thanks to some interior design genius, to use the bathroom, she has to walk right through Rachel’s room._

_After a few more moments of indecision, she finally steels herself and cautiously opens Rachel’s door. The room is dark and quiet; by the looks of things Rachel has been asleep for hours. In the darkness Quinn can just make out her shape, curled away towards the far side of the room. Quinn moves quietly, hugging the wall on the way to the bathroom._

_A few minutes later she flicks the bathroom light off and slips back into Rachel’s room. As far as she can tell Rachel is still asleep. The clock next to her bed blinks 4 in the morning. Quinn tiptoes across the floor towards the door, but just as her hand closes around the doorknob she hears a quiet noise behind her._

_“Rach?” she calls softly, turning back. Another muffled noise. “Are you awake?”_

_The room falls quiet again, but Quinn can tell something is up with Rachel. She moves through her room in the darkness until she’s standing next to Rachel’s bed._

_“Rachel?” She lays a hand on her body, Rachel is shaking. “What is it?”_

_A small, stuttering laugh escapes her lips. “Sorry,” she mumbles. “Can – Can you just go?” she asks quietly. “This is really embarrassing for me.”_

_“No,” Quinn replies bluntly, taking a seat just past the blanketed curve of Rachel’s knees. “Tell me what’s wrong.”_

_Rachel shifts until she’s sitting, shuffling back against the headboard, as far away from Quinn as she can get. “It’s fine, Quinn, please just go to bed.”_

_Quinn sighs and reaches over to turn on Rachel’s reading lamp. In the light, it’s easy to tell that Rachel has been crying. Their eyes meet and there’s a flash of pain in Rachel’s gaze that makes something twist beneath Quinn’s ribcage._

_“So embarrassing,” Rachel mumbles, glancing away with a laugh that sounds closer to a sob._

_“Hey,” Quinn says softly. “You can talk to me.”_

_“I really, really can’t,” Rachel replies, chuckling again, in that awful, broken way. “Especially not with – “ she trails off and cocks her head in the direction of Quinn's room. “You should get back to him.”_

_“Don’t be stupid,” Quinn snaps, immediately contrite when Rachel flinches. “He’s just some guy,” she adds softly._

_Rachel smiles tightly. “Please don’t make me talk about this.”_

_Quinn huffs and presses back up to her feet. “If it bothers you that much I’ll get rid of him.”_

_“Quinn – “ Rachel calls frantically, but she’s already out the door. She steps into her room and flicks on the light. Toby rouses, blinking like a sleepy puppy before his eyes land on Quinn and he grins._

_“Hey, Toby,” she says. “Sorry, but you have to go. My roommate is really sick.”_

_“What?” he asks, his face falling immediately. Quinn rummages around her floor and begins to gather his clothes, tossing them in his direction._

_“Seriously. You need to leave.”_

_“O-Okay?” he mumbles, standing and pulling on his jeans._

_Quinn ushers him out of the apartment as he’s still struggling to put on his shirt and jacket._

_“It’s been fun,” she says as he slips into his shoes._

_“Yeah.” He leans down and presses a wet kiss to Quinn’s cheek. “I’ll call you.”_

_She internally curses herself for having given him her number before taking him home. “Yeah, have a good night.” Toby smiles and she closes the door after him._

_Rachel’s sitting, hunched on her bed, wiping at the tears still tracking down her cheeks when Quinn gets back from seeing Toby out._

_“He’s gone,” she says, taking a seat near the end of the bed. “So talk.”_

_Rachel sighs and shakes her head. “You aren’t going to like this.”_

 

“It’s not polite to stare, Quinn,” Brittany says matter-of-factly. “Your mom used to get so mad at me for staring when I was at your house, so I know you know that rule.”

“What are you doing here?” Quinn says, trying and failing to control the quiver in her voice. 

“I’m visiting my friend Quinn.” Brittany grins. “I’m just waiting for her to invite me in.”

Quinn’s hands are shaky as she reaches around Brittany to unlock the door. “Come on,” she mumbles entering the apartment, Brittany following closely behind. 

Brittany sidesteps around her and moves deeper into the apartment, stopping to twirl in the middle of Quinn’s living room. “This place is huge! It could have given birth to my apartment.”

As she drops her keys by the door Quinn distinctly makes out Brittany adding, in a softer voice, “Maybe it did.”

“Brittany, why are you here?” Quinn repeats.

“Come on, Quinn, it’s been years!” Brittany smiles. “Least you could do is offer me a drink, and maybe dinner since I’ve been waiting outside your apartment for forever. Thanks for that by the way.”

“What do you want from me? I didn’t know you were going to be here,” Quinn says, glaring. “I didn’t even know you were in New York.”

“Obviously,” Brittany shoots back. “You can’t just know about this stuff when you ignore everyone.” She steps towards Quinn. “You hung up on me today. Why?” she asks, her voice is open and curious.

“I was in a meeting.” The lie falls flat from Quinn’s lips.

“You weren’t,” Brittany replies, the look of hurt in her eyes unmistakable. “I don’t understand why you won’t talk to me anymore. I’m not sure what I did, but I guess you must have a good reason to ignore me.”

Quinn can’t help but soften a little, and Brittany picks up on it and grins. “So come on! Let’s order Chinese or something, I’m sure you have like, fifteen dollar beer in a place like this.” 

“Brittany, tonight isn’t – “

“I know what day it is, Quinn,” she cuts her off, chewing lightly at the corner of her lip. “We can just talk about – your job, or something. We can just hang out. I think you owe me that much.”

Even in high school, Quinn had a really hard time refusing Brittany anything. There’s a pleading look in her eyes and Quinn can feel her resolve dissipating by the second. Having Brittany now, right before her eyes, she’s struck with that hollow feeling in her chest that she can only ever associate with loss. Kicking Brittany out is suddenly out of the question.

“Okay,” Quinn says softly, staring at the floor. “You can stay for a while.”

Brittany sort of squeals, her hands clapping together, and Quinn hears her feet move across the floor. Before long she feels slender arms wrap around her body, pulling her in. 

"Brittany, I'm soaked don't -" 

Brittany's arms engulph her in tight hug before she can finish her warning. Quinn’s arms hang limply at her sides for a few seconds, before Brittany sort of huffs and forces them around her waist. “I wish you were as happy to see me as I am to see you,” she whispers in Quinn’s ear. It’s so familiar, having Brittany wrapped around her like this, that she’s suddenly flooded with a strange nostalgia for all the things she left behind so long ago.

When they pull back there are tears shimmering in both of their eyes and Brittany laughs. “This is messy huh?” She scrunches her nose at Quinn. “Seriously, I'm so hungry, have you eaten?”

“No,” Quinn replies, brushing tears off her cheeks. “I know a good Indian place.”

“Awesome!” Brittany grins. “Where’s your kitchen? Do you have any wine coolers or anything?”

Quinn lets out a tiny laugh. “I’m sure I have something, let me just get out of these wet clothes."

 

_Rachel has been pacing back and forth in her bedroom for twenty minutes. She has yet to say anything, though somewhere around the eight minute mark she’d managed to stop crying. Quinn hasn’t moved from her seat at the foot of the bed, but she’s started to fidget with increasing impatience._

_“Rachel, you haven’t said a word in 20 minutes,” she says finally. “It’s almost five in the morning.”_

_“You wanted this.” Rachel points a finger at her and glares._

_“Please just talk to me, Rach.”_

_She takes a deep breath and gives Quinn a pained look. “Quinn, I – “ she groans and palms the side of her neck._

_“Spit it out!” Quinn exclaims._

_“Okay,” Rachel begins, in a shaky voice, “well, as you know, I was upset tonight.”_

_Quinn nods, prompting her to go on._

_“The reason I’m upset, well, it’s something I’ve been struggling with for a while.” She takes a deep breath. “Quinn, I – I’ve developed some feelings for you. Feelings that could be described as - well, not exactly platonic.”_

_Heat rushes to Quinn’s cheeks at her words. “What?” she manages to sputter. “Why?”_

_Rachel shakes her head. “Many, many reasons, Quinn.”_

_“Well, don’t,” Quinn spits bluntly. Rachel’s face hardens instantly, her eyes flash with something like rage and Quinn wishes, for a second that she knew how to approach this situation with any kind of tact but she’s just –_

_She just can’t handle this. Apparently Rachel can’t either because she explodes about a second later._

_“You think I want to feel this way about you?” Rachel replies, her voice wavering on a knife’s edge between anger and sadness. “You are easily the worst possible person I could develop this_ stupid _, ridiculous crush on,” she says emphatically. “God, you just – you made my life_ hell _for years and you_ enjoyed _it. You - ”_

_“That’s not fair,” Quinn interjects angrily._

_Rachel’s laugh is bitter, visibly vibrating through her skin. “What ever gave you the impression that any of this is fair? Do you think it’s fair that I wake up in the morning and the first thing I think about is you? Do you think it’s fair that I’ve started – “ she rakes a shaking hand through her hair. “That I’ve started organizing my work schedule just so I can_ see _you as much as possible?”_

_Quinn is struck dumb. Even if she could force herself to say something, she knows herself well enough by now to know that whatever comes out of her mouth will be an attack._

_“I’ve tried_ everything _to - “ Rachel mumbles, “I – I don’t know what else I can do to feel differently.”_

_“Why are you doing this?” Quinn’s voice is low and weary sounding. “I don’t – I don’t_ want _to know any of this.”_

_“I know,” Rachel says softly. “I’m sorry, I am, I just couldn’t carry it around anymore.”_

_“Why not?” Quinn asks, suddenly angry. “I didn’t do anything to – I mean, this isn’t my problem. Why did you have to bring this up? Things are good! Why now?”_

_Rachel looks stricken. “Because you brought home some random guy and – and -_ fucked _him six feet away from my bedroom door,” she says lowly. “I can handle a lot from you, Quinn. I think, if anything, our history proves that but – I can’t just be okay with you having sex with some total stranger if there’s even a chance that – “ Her mouth snaps shut abruptly, and it looks like forcing the rest of the sentence past her lips is physically painful. “If there’s even a chance you could feel the same way.”_

_There’s a strange, cold dread seeping into Quinn’s veins. It’s a familiar feeling, like things are about to spiral beyond her control._

_“Rachel,” she says, hoping that her name, that very basic connection will snap them out of this situation._

_Pain flashes across Rachel’s features before she backs away until her back hits the opposing wall, until there’s no place further she can go short of leaving the room. “Quinn you need to go. I – you can’t be in here anymore.” Her voice is edging on hysterical. “Please just – I need you to not be here. I can’t be around you right now – I can’t – “_

_Quinn stands on shaky legs. “Okay,” she says, relief and reluctant guilt flushing through her body. “Okay,” she repeats, stepping around the bed and heading for the door._

 

“I think I could probably live off of this stuff,” Brittany says, tearing off a corner of naan bread. “I love the name too. Chickpeas! At first I thought well – you know.” She flaps her arms a little, presumably miming a chicken. “But Santana told me they were just beans, so.”

Quinn cocks an eyebrow. “Brittany, you still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

“I live here, Q,” Brittany replies simply.

“What?” Quinn chokes on her beer, sputtering for a few moments before somewhat regaining her composure. “In New York? Since when?”

“Since just after me and S broke up,” she says calmly, pushing her food around on her plate.

“Oh right,” Quinn says carefully. “I heard about that actually.”

Brittany eyes her curiously. “How? I mean we still haven’t even changed our Facebook statuses. Plus you’re like, never on Facebook anyways.”

“My mom,” Quinn replies. “Her and your mom play – “

“Bridge together,” Brittany finishes. “Right.”

“I’m sorry,” Quinn says, realizing belatedly how inadequate a sentiment that is. “I always thought of anyone I knew, you two would be the ones to make it.”

Brittany nods and smiles sadly. “Me too.” Her laugh comes out sounding hollow. “I always kind of thought all of us would make it. It’s silly I know, but it would have been cool. Me and S, you and Rachel.”

Even now, after all these years, just hearing her name hits Quinn like a blow.

“Look at us now.” Brittany gestures between the two of them. “Crazy.” 

“Do you and Santana still talk?” Quinn asks.

“A little,” she replies. “She’s mad at me most of the time. Especially since I moved in December.”

“Why New York?”

“I’m a dancer Quinn.” Brittany rolls her eyes. “There are like, two places in the world you can be a dancer for real, and I couldn’t stay in LA.”

“So you’re still dancing?” 

“Of course,” she grins. “It’s my favorite thing. I’m actually choreographing a Broadway show. Or off-Broadway, or off-off-off-Broadway or something. I don’t really know what it means. I just show up and teach!” she says brightly. “You should come see! We open in September!”

“So you’ve been here since December.” Quinn subject change is sloppy and Brittany rolls her eyes a little, but follows her down this new thread of conversation anyways. “Why exactly did you show up on my doorstep today?”

“I thought you could use a friend,” Brittany replies simply. “I don’t know if I’m still your friend really, but you’re still mine so. One out of two isn’t so bad.”

“Yeah,” Quinn says softly, struggling to maintain some kind of grip on her emotions. It’s too much to ask in one day, to have everything else and then on top of that to have one of her oldest friends be so innocuously devastating.

“I know today’s not a very good day for you. I guess I thought that maybe you’d feel better to have somebody around who knows about it all.”

“Is – is it pathetic that I’m still this hung up on it?” It slips from Quinn’s mouth before she can think to hold it back.

“It was a long time ago, Quinn.” Brittany gives a nod. “But I get why you’re still so sad. Rachel did a pretty mean thing to you.”

Quinn lets out a bitter snort. “I think that’s an understatement.”

Brittany sighs. “I want to be on your side, but she’s my friend too, and she had her reasons.”

Angry tears sting at Quinn’s eyes and she turns away, moving around plates and takeout boxes just to have something to focus on that isn’t going to tear her to pieces.

Brittany watches carefully for a few moments as Quinn struggles to compose herself. “Q, there’s another reason I’m here.”

“Oh?" Quinn says hoarsely, wiping furiously at her eyes.

“I just thought it might be better to hear it from me.”

A chill creeps up her spine at the look on Brittany’s face. “What is it?”

Brittany chews on the corner of her lip for a moment, before she sighs and says, “Rachel’s back in New York.”

 

_”So, Quinn.” Dr. Kandrack slips her glasses off her nose and rubs at them with a small, grey cleaning cloth. “You asked that we bump your appointment up by a few days. Is there anything in particular that precipitated this request?”_

_It strikes Quinn as a particularly stupid question. Of course there’s a reason she wanted to bump the appointment up. It’s not like she enjoys being here, but after all these years she at least recognizes when it’s a necessity._

_“Something happened,” she says, neutrally enough. “I don’t know how to deal with it.”_

_Dr. Kandrack looks amused. “Care to elaborate?”_

_Quinn takes a deep breath and glances out the window. “Rachel, she uh – you know, my roommate Rachel?”_

_Dr. Kandrack sort of chuckles. “Yes, I know Rachel.” She flips through the little notebook in her lap. “Rachel your enemy from high school, Rachel the girl who stole all your boyfriends, Rachel your friend, and most recently, Rachel your roommate. Quinn she’s a big part of your life. We talk about her.”_

_Quinn nods. “Well a few nights ago – two nights I guess – she, well she – “ she makes a frustrated noise in the back of her throat. “She told me that she has feelings for me. Romantic feelings.”_

_Dr. Kandrack makes a note in her book and Quinn imagines she’s probably adding ‘Rachel – potential love interest’ to her list._

_“I see,” she says finally. “How did that make you feel?”_

_Quinn laughs. “Angry, obviously. I mean, what gives her the right to drop all this on me? She’s just – she’s being selfish. None of this is my problem.”_

_She watches Dr. Kandrack write a few notes, before glancing up at her. “Angry, anything else?”_

_No matter how many times she plays back the situation in her head, she has a hard time picking out anything other than that tight, furious ball of tension in her chest as Rachel singlehandedly set about dismantling their friendship. She shuts her eyes and tries to think past it, tries to picture Rachel’s bedroom, the words that came out of her mouth, the look on her face._

_“Sorry,” Quinn says, her eyes fluttering open abruptly. “I felt – sorry.”_

_“And why did you feel sorry?”_

_“It was – “ Quinn bites down on the inside of her cheek for a few seconds. “It was very obvious that she doesn’t want to feel this way about me. I mean, I could tell that it – it_ hurt _her to have these feelings for me. I don’t know, I guess – I don’t like being responsible for her hurting. That lost its luster for me a long time ago,” she says, swallowing hard. “I just don’t know what to do. What do I do?”_

_“Quinn, I’d like to ask you something,” Dr. Kandrack says. “What are the things about Rachel that make her a good friend?”_

_Quinn considers that quietly for a minute or so. “She’s very neat,” she says finally with a small laugh. “When she’s not yammering about Broadway or whatever, she’s actually pretty intelligent. She’s well-read. She’s funny, mostly in an unintentional way. She’s driven, but she’s not as self-centered as she comes off. We fight obviously, but I mean, she’s willing to put up with – my issues, and I’m willing to put up with hers, so our friendship works.” Quinn sighs. “Until now,” she adds as an afterthought._

_“So, to sum up, Rachel is a good friend because she’s tidy, smart, funny and accepting of who you are.”_

_“I guess.”_

_“Would you say that these are also qualities that you look for in a romantic partner?” Dr. Kandrack asks._

_“I’m not gay,” Quinn snaps, crossing her arms protectively across her chest._

_“I wasn’t insinuating that you were,” Dr. Kandrack replies placidly._

_Quinn scoffs. “You were insinuating that I date Rachel, which is the same thing.”_

_Dr. Kandrack sighs and takes off her glasses. “Your involvement in our sessions has always been – grudging at best, so I’m going to keep my advice short and sweet here.” She fixes Quinn with an even look. “There's not much that I can do for you that you can't do for yourself. I can offer you a safe space to discuss your concerns, I can prescribe you a pill - but the only person who can make you happy is you, Quinn. The best any of us can do is to find the things that just cut down to who we are as people and - and make us_ better _. But you can't be afraid if those things don't come in the shape you think they should. Keep an open mind, and when you figure it out, don't let it go.”_

_Quinn stares in disbelief as Dr. Kandrack falls silent and begins to arrange the papers in her lap. Their time is almost up._

_“That’s it?” Quinn says. “Find what makes you happy and hold on to it? That’s the best advice you have?”_

_Dr. Kandrack laughs. “It’s the only advice I have.”_

 

“Quinn, say something,” Brittany prompts, breaking through several long, painful minutes of silence.

“Why?” she manages to force out.

“She wrapped the show she was shooting in L.A.” 

Quinn doesn’t mean to keep tabs on Rachel, but with every passing day her fame grows, and avoiding her face on TV, or in magazines is nearly impossible. As it is, she knows just the show Brittany’s referring to: a drama, where in some cruel twist of fate, Rachel plays a _lawyer_.

“What is she doing here?”

“She lives here,” Brittany says gently. “She’s back.”

It’s stupid, but she has to ask, “You’re sure?”

“Yeah,” Brittany replies, before hesitantly adding, ”We met up last night, for drinks.”

After all this time, it still feels like a betrayal. Brittany and Rachel catching up over drinks. She knows it’s petty, but Quinn always thought of Brittany and Santana as her friends first, and Rachel’s second. In her head there was a clear divide, but in practice it turned out very differently.

“She asked about you.” 

“I don’t want to know anything about her,” Quinn snaps.

“Quinn, come on.” 

“No,” Quinn says, anger causing her voice to shake. “I don’t want to hear about her, I don’t want her in my head, or in my city okay? So just _shut up_ , Brittany!”

Brittany visibly flinches, her eyes squint shut for a moment before flashing open, full of something that looks so completely foreign on Brittany's face. She looks _pissed_. “You can’t keep this up, Quinn.” Her voice is soft, but somehow menacing.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You have a huge apartment, and a fancy job and you drink super expensive beer.” Brittany sighs. “But you aren’t happy. Not even a little, I can tell,” she says sadly.

“I think you should leave, Brittany.” 

“You’re probably right.” Brittany nods, standing and walking towards the door. Quinn follows, without really knowing why.

“It was good to see you again, Q,” Brittany says, pausing by the door. “I’m sorry it wasn’t a very fun visit.”

“Yeah,” Quinn mutters, pressing the heel of her palm against her temple, right up against where her head is throbbing.

“Quinn, d’you remember what I told you, the last time we saw each other?”

Of course she remembers, but she doesn’t let on that she does.

“I told you there were tons of other fish in the sea,” she laughs. “Do you remember what you said back?”

Quinn’s eyes find a corner of wall just visible beyond Brittany’s shoulder and stay there, avoiding the pitying look in her eyes.

“You told me you didn’t want fish, you just wanted Rachel,” Brittany sighs. “I never forgot that. I hope you haven’t, either.” 

She’s gone, and Quinn’s alone, and after all this time it shouldn’t feel as painful as it does.

 

_After a week, Quinn comes to the decision that there is not one single thing more depressing then brushing her teeth in a public bathroom. That, and the owners of the corner store downstairs probably think she’s a homeless person, because she’s in there, using the bathroom or brushing her teeth at least once a day. She always makes sure to buy something, just to prove she’s not a vagrant._

_It’s not the most mature way she’s ever gone about dealing with something, though it is still somewhat dwarfed by the whole Shelby debacle senior year._

_It’s not that she’s avoiding Rachel, per se, although Rachel certainly might be avoiding her. She’s working more than ever these days and tends to disappear into her room as soon as she gets home, with hardly a word in Quinn’s direction._

_It’s just that she doesn’t know what to do, at all. Kandrack’s advice was about as helpful as Puck’s chosen method of contraception. Quinn’s not really in the business of dealing in platitudes, and ‘find what makes you happy and hold on to it’ might just be the dumbest thing she’s ever heard._

_Eventually, she knows she’ll have to talk to Rachel. At the very least so that she doesn’t have to wait for her to leave the house before using their bathroom. That knowledge hardly diminishes the fact that there’s really no way, as far as Quinn can tell, that they can emerge from all this as friends._

_She tosses a pack of gum down on the counter, making sure that her toothbrush is well concealed in her jacket pocket._

_“Thanks,” she says smiling, even as the woman behind the counter gives her a disdainful look._

_“Have a good night,” the woman calls, as she steps out into the chilly evening air._

_Quinn can’t help but think that that’s not very likely._

_Rachel’s standing, stock still, in the middle of the kitchen when Quinn walks in, which given the current state of affairs in their apartment is pretty shocking. Her phone is clutched so firmly in her right hand that even from across the room Quinn can see the whitened skin, pulled taught over Rachel’s knuckles. Her whole body, facing away from Quinn, is a single rigid and strained line._

_Quinn approaches cautiously. “Rachel?”_

_Rachel spins, her eyes bright with something Quinn can’t name._

_“Are you okay?” she asks, pulling up short to leave a safe distance between them._

_Rachel glances down at her phone for a few long seconds before looking up, the swell of her lower lip caught between even teeth._

_“I – “ she says, trailing off into something that sounds almost like a laugh. “I got a part,” she says finally, shrugging a shoulder in the least convincing show of nonchalance Quinn’s ever seen._

_Some feeling in Quinn’s chest swells then, pressing against her ribcage. “What’s the part?” she asks, unconsciously leaning closer._

_“It’s tiny. Possibly the smallest role in any play, ever,” she says, her face splitting into a painfully wide grin. “God, it’s – it’s so far off-Broadway it might as well be in Canada, but –“ she laughs. “It’s a part. I got a part.”_

_They stare at each other for a few moments, sporting matching grins, before Rachel lets out something caught between a squeal and a sob, and rushes forward to launch herself into Quinn’s arms. Her legs are up around Quinn’s waist before she can brace herself so they sort of stumble backwards together, until her back connects with the wall._

_Rachel’s laughing in her ear and that swelling feeling in her chest just bursts, without warning and for a second, the feeling is not dissimilar to a panic attack. Her heart is racing at a pace that surely can’t be healthy, and it’s only when Rachel pulls back and brushes a hand against her cheek that she realizes she’s crying._

_“What’s wrong?” Rachel slips from euphoric-Rachel to deeply-concerned-Rachel so quickly that Quinn can’t help the desperate laugh that bubbles up in her throat._

_Rachel looks at her questioningly for a few moments, before glancing down at their bodies, flushing scarlet and then squirming out of Quinn’s arms. She steps away as soon as her feet hit the floor and mumbles an apology._

_Quinn can feel that awkward veil, threatening to dip down between them again, and she can’t explain it, this sudden need to keep Rachel close. Her hand catches Rachel’s wrist and tugs her close enough to wrap an arm around her shoulders and hold her there, pressed against her._

_Rachel’s fingers wind their way into the fabric of Quinn’s coat, clutching tightly. Her words are soft, pressing up against the skin of Quinn’s neck._

_“I really miss you.”_

_There are a hundred thousand ways Quinn could respond to that, but somehow, the only one that feels right is to kiss her._

 

Despite the fact that her entire visit was an emotionally charged mess, at some point Brittany managed to arrange the remaining food on her plate into a remarkably detailed picture that includes a naan bread sun and what appears to be a butter chicken dog catching a chick pea tennis ball. It’s strangely comforting, the way amidst all of the utter shit, some things haven’t changed.

Quinn reluctantly scrapes their plates, watching as the dog and his ball disappear into the depths of her garbage can. She drops their dishes in the dishwasher, packs up the leftovers and wipes down the counters. Just like that it’s as if Brittany was never even there. 

Her phone vibrates loudly against the granite countertop and Quinn sees on the display that it’s a text from an unknown number.

**10:46** _Whenever you’re ready just call._

She barely finishes reading the text when another buzzes through.

**10:46** _It’s Brittany by the way :)_

Quinn stares down at that tiny smiley face for what feels like an eternity, before finally mustering the bravery to add Brittany’s number to her contacts. She doesn’t know if she’ll call when she’s ready, or if she’ll ever be ready at all, but just having Brittany’s name in her phone is comforting. It feels like maybe, for the first time in a long time, she has someone on her side.

 

By midnight she’s curled on her couch, wearing a pair of worn NYU sweats and a Boy Scouts shirt that had been Finn’s when he was a kid. It holds no particular memories for her, but it’s soft and comfy and that’s been enough for her to hold on to it all these years. 

There’s a Natalie Wood marathon on TCM, and she makes it through _Splendor in the Grass_ and _Gypsy_ , only half paying attention, until _West Side Story_ comes on and she nearly knocks over the coffee table reaching for the remote. Once she has it, white-knuckle clutched in her hand, she stills. Surely, she can manage to watch this movie without associating it with Rachel.

She makes it ten minutes in before switching to an infomercial, and considers that something of an accomplishment.

For the next few hours she drifts in and out of an uneasy sleep, waking often to what starts as Rachel’s voice in her ear and ends as the Magic Bullet whirring away, making fifteen different kinds of smoothies.

 

_It’s getting harder and harder to sleep in as summer wears on. The sun rises at around 5:30 AM, and with it comes that sticky heat, rolling through the city and settling thickly over their apartment. After all her years in New York, it’s the one thing Quinn just can’t acclimatize to._

_She wakes with the vague knowledge that it’s early, because even through the sleepy fog in her brain she can feel Rachel, still curled behind her in bed. She’s always up before 7, even on the days she’s not working._

_Quinn kicks the covers away and curls in on herself, mumbling incoherently about the heat. Rachel laughs low, near her ear._

_“Morning,” Rachel says, pressing a kiss to her shoulder that Quinn can only just feel through the cotton of her t-shirt ._

_“It’s not morning,” she grumbles, attempting to will herself back to sleep._

_Rachel hums her agreement and slips her hand up the back of her shirt, running impossibly cold fingers up the curve of Quinn’s spine, laughing when she squirms away._

_“Go away, midget,” Quinn murmurs. “I’m sleeping.”_

_Rachel’s voice is sleepy, thick and soothing, as she fits her arm around Quinn’s waist. “Whatever you say, baby.”_

_Quinn drifts._

_When she wakes for the second time it’s not immediately clear that she ever fell back asleep in the first place. The room’s a little more stifling and brighter, but Rachel’s still there, betraying her morning routine._

_Quinn rolls over to look at her. She’s lying on her back, her hair splayed out in a dark tangle across the pillows. Her eyes are focused somewhere beyond the window and her hand is moving idly through the air, forcing dust particles into the sunlight, lighting them up and swirling them around with a dip of her fingers._

_It’s such a painfully ordinary moment, smack dab in the middle of an ordinary day, but something in Quinn’s chest catches at the sight all the same._

_The two of them in their pajamas, with all the endless possibilities of a day without school or work laid out before them, and she can’t imagine ever being more in love than in this moment, watching in wonder as Rachel redirects light._

 

The light grows grey in her apartment, and she knows it’s time to leave. It’s not a particularly joyful tradition, but it’s an important one, so she turns off the television, runs a hand through her knotted hair and heads for the door.

She pulls a light cardigan from the entryway closet and slips her feet into a pair of worn flip-flops. Her keys are still tucked away in her briefcase, but from a nail on the inside of the closet she pulls another, older set. She puts both in her pocket and goes.

The building is quiet as she makes her way down the hall and into the elevator. It’s five o’clock Saturday morning; she seems to be the only person not sleeping in. The doorman nods at her sleepily as she walk across the lobby and out of the front doors.

It’s a twenty minute walk to where she’s headed, but on the way she only runs into a hand full of people. A young couple jogging with their dog, a few drunk college kids making their way home after a long night. Mostly though, she has the streets to herself.

When she arrives at the building she flicks through the second key ring until she finds the one she’s looking for. She unlocks the door and heads past the elevator towards the stairs.

Eight flights later she emerges from the stairwell and takes a left down the hallway.

She never really could explain why she kept the place, even after she’d moved on to bigger, better real estate. Plenty of people had encouraged her to move out, especially right after Rachel left. No one understood why Quinn would want to live there after she’d gone.

She slips her key into the door marked 8F, unlocks it and steps inside.

In the first few weeks after she’d moved out, she would come here fairly often. Just to run her hands over the surfaces of the furniture, the walls, trying to feel for some echo of her, of her fingertips. Quinn would lie on the floor and shut her eyes until she could almost feel her lying next to her.

But for the past few years she’s only come here once a year, on this day, the anniversary of the day Rachel left for good. That old urge, to touch everything, to wish for her, is gone. She only stands, just inside the door and waits for memory to wash over her.

The early morning light filters in, lighting up the yellow walls in a way that Rachel once said reminded her of living inside a lemon.

Quinn shuts her eyes for just a second and then she sees it.

 

Of all the moments this is the one she would most want to keep. Her and Rachel sitting on the hardwood floor, together. 

She wants to live inside this moment, build walls around it and settle into it, because in it there are no echoes of what’s to come. In it she’s never felt lonely, or afraid. She’s never felt Rachel’s gaze on her, turn cold. She’s never woken, alone, to a note that says _I love you_ , but means _I’m leaving_ and above all there’s still time. 

Quinn is laughing and Rachel is touching her cheek, and she can’t remember a time that came after that she was ever happier.

She wishes she could reach out and warn herself, to change, to try harder, to hold on just a little tighter.

Rachel is smiling and brushing hair back from her face.

There’s still time.


	2. Chapter 2

The air she sucks into her lungs is oppressively warm and thick, so different from what she’s used to. Even on the hottest days in LA, there’s something about it that feels artificial, like that stale taste the AC leaves in the air. Here on the other hand, the air she breathes in, in long anxious pulls, feels heavier – like it's realer, somehow.

Which makes sense now that she thinks of it, because as far back as Rachel can remember, for her, New York might as well have been the only city on Earth. Not that anyone would know it, based on the catty, underhanded articles that paint her as a “diva” and “difficult to work with” and list her adamant refusal to step foot in the city as indisputable proof. 

She starts at the sudden rap of knuckles on the side of her car. One of the movers is standing on the sidewalk next to her, smiling, a box at his feet. He ducks his head so they’re eye to eye through the open driver’s side window.

“Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but this box isn’t marked. Where do you want us to leave it?”

It’s a plain, nondescript white cardboard box and she can’t even guess at its contents. If she hadn’t marked it back in LA, chances are it’s just odds and ends that didn’t fit anywhere else.

“The living room is fine, thank you,” she says with a nod, before hitting a button and watching the window slide up into place.

It’s quiet in the car, and if she closes her eyes and breathes deeply, she could be in any car, in any city in the world. Some place like Paris, or Tokyo maybe, god even _Fargo_. Some place innocuous, that isn’t so steeped in memory, that isn’t so colored by her own failings.

A taxi’s horn blares through the silent, temporary walls of her imagination. Her eyes flutter open, and the city reasserts itself. She feels silly suddenly, like a child hiding under the covers. New York is just a city, like any other city full of people and buildings and smog. If she can sing _Defying Gravity_ in front of two thousand people crammed into the Apollo Victoria Theatre in London then she can handle the walk from her car to her new apartment.

She grabs her purse off the passenger seat and steps out of the car, setting her feet down firmly on the sidewalk. With a glance up at the building, where she approximates the ninth floor is, she takes off towards the doors.

 

“Excuse me.”

Rachel pulls up short, and sighs before turning back and greeting a young woman with a smile. Normally she has no issues meeting fans and signing autographs, but she’s in the middle of something important here, and she really needs to focus on – 

“You dropped your sunglasses.” She extends the glasses in Rachel’s direction, and once Rachel fumbles to except them, the girl’s gone before she can even thank her.

Rachel laughs, even as her cheeks flush with something just to the left of shame. 

New Yorkers have never really cared much about her, unless she was serving them drinks. She’s not sure why she thought a few years of moderate success would change that.

 

_”I really miss you.”_

_She regrets saying it the second it slips past her lips._

_But she’s not overly surprised, she’s Rachel Berry after all, always wearing her heart on her sleeve, never knowing when to just keep her mouth shut._

_Quinn tenses against her, but when Rachel tries to pull away, the arm around her shoulders only tightens. There’s a slow exhale, skittering across her neck, tickling at her hairline as Quinn sighs, and shifts. Her hand slips up Rachel’s side and threads through her hair, tilting her head back until they’re sharing air. There’s no way to tell what Quinn’s thinking, because she won’t meet Rachel’s eyes. She’s staring at her mouth, and Rachel’s heart picks up at just the sight of Quinn’s tongue peeking out to wet her bottom lip._

_Objectively, she knows what’s coming, but when Quinn finally closes those scant few inches between them Rachel feels strangely, like she must be dreaming. The pressure against her lips is so soft, feather-light, that the idea that this is something her unconscious cooked up seems pretty plausible._

_But then she hears this noise, softly vibrating from the back of Quinn’s throat, that she recognizes from when Quinn does the Times crossword puzzle in the morning. Then, it usually means that she’s figured something out, that she’s found some word she’s been searching for._

_It’s impossible not to read into that, so Rachel takes a chance and presses forward, sucking lightly at Quinn’s bottom lip. The hand in her hair tightens, pulls her even closer and meets her lips with a certainty that doesn’t reflect the way that Quinn’s entire body is trembling._

_Rachel pulls away, wanting to be sure that she’s okay, but Quinn makes a frustrated little noise and pushes forward, keeping them connected, sweeping her tongue along the seam of Rachel’s lips._

_She understands, on some level, that maybe this is something Quinn just needs to do. Kiss her, and not think about what it means. The instinct to pull away flares up strong in Rachel, to sit down and discuss the ins and outs of this new road they’re treading. The dormant 16 year old buried deep within her wants to boot up her laptop and open PowerPoint and figure this whole thing out._

_But that’s not the Rachel that Quinn needs right now, so instead she parts her lips, and lets Quinn take the lead._

_They stay locked like that, trading slow, deep kisses that Rachel can’t help but try to commit to memory, just in case this is all she’ll ever have of her._

_Gradually, the pace slows until Quinn presses one final, soft kiss to Rachel’s lips before pulling back. Her hand twists in Rachel’s hair and a little yelp slips past her lips._

_“Sorry,” Quinn says, wincing. Her voice comes out rougher than usual and she sort of rolls her eyes and clears her throat, before gently trying to untangle her hand. “You have much longer hair than the people I usually make out with.”_

_Rachel laughs, perching her hands on Quinn’s hips, and waits for her fingers to slip free._

_“There,” Quinn breathes, glancing away, her jaw tensing a little._

_Rachel knows what comes next. Quinn freaks out and runs and they’re back to keeping separate hours and avoiding one another. She searches desperately for something to lighten the mood, to pull Quinn out of her head. Her hands unconsciously press down on Quinn’s hips and slip along the fabric of her jacket until –_

_“Is that a toothbrush in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”_

_Quinn half-groans and presses the heel of her hand to her eye socket. “How long have you wanted to say that?”_

_Rachel giggles. “So long. I mean, in a perfect world there would have been a gun in your pocket and this would be in some glamorous black and white film, though frankly there are some – anatomical inconsistencies in this scenario.”_

_Quinn glares at her, but it has a somewhat lessened effect when she’s blushing all the way to the tips of her ears._

_“Why do you have a toothbrush in your pocket?” Rachel asks._

_Quinn rolls her eyes and chews at her lip for a moment. Rachel has the sudden, slightly mortifying urge to sink her teeth into that same flesh._

_“I’ve been brushing my teeth at the store,” Quinn says finally, shaking her head and laughing a little._

_Rachel grins. “I underestimated your commitment to avoiding me.”_

_Quinn’s gaze narrows. “Like you’ve been so available.”_

_Rachel shrugs sheepishly and they stare at one another for a few long moments before Quinn clears her throat._

_“So, tell me about this part.”_

_“Oh my god!” Rachel gasps. “I completely forgot!”_

 

She hasn’t had a real fixed address for more than a few months at a time in years. It’s the sort of thing that makes her new apartment rather a sad state of affairs. When she’d seen all the boxes packed away in a UHAUL leaving LA, it had seemed like an enormous amount of stuff, but now that it’s all unpacked she sees how little she even owns anymore. 

Her footsteps echo in the nearly empty space as she walks over to her couch, the only piece of furniture she has other than her bed. She drops down onto it and begins to contemplate the daunting task of filling this admittedly excessively spacious place. For a second she wishes she had an assistant to take care of all this for her, but she’d been adamant about being left alone for the summer. Hiring an assistant would get back to her agent for sure, and that would open quite a can of worms.

The whole process of organizing a move has allowed her to be somewhat detached from what it would actually feel like to be back. It’s different then what she thought it would be. More bittersweet. 

She jumps at the feel of her brand new iPhone vibrating insistently in her lap. There’s very few people in the world who know her new number, and she doesn’t even have to check the caller ID to know who it is. She sighs and runs a hand through her hair before picking up.

“Santana.” 

“Berry. How’s the new place?” Santana’s voice comes smoothly over the line.

“It’s wonderful. Thank you again for setting me up with your friend.” 

“Whatever,” Santana brushes off her thanks. “It’s not like I don’t know the big players out there. Laura and I went to UCLA together. She still a total bitch?”

Rachel laughs. “Sort of. She’s a wonderful real estate agent though.”

Santana scoffs. “Careful Berry, you’ll give me a complex.”

“You know that if you were based out here, you’d have been my very first choice.”

“I should fucking hope so,” Santana replies. “How’s it feel to be back?”

“Weird,” Rachel replies after a few seconds deliberation. Santana chuckles and Rachel’s sure she hears her mutter _obviously_ under her breath. 

“It’s good I think,” Rachel adds flatly. “I mean it’s home I guess, isn’t it?”

Santana laughs. “Glad to see you’re still morose as ever.”

Rachel rolls her eyes. “Glad to see you’re still charming as ever.”

“Listen, Berry,” Santana says. “As much as I enjoy our little chats, I’m actually calling with a purpose. Remember how I selflessly helped you procure your fancy new apartment?” Santana drawls.

“Yes, Santana. I remember.” 

“I need a favour,” she says, her voice taking on a different edge.

“Well I’ll do my best to help you out.” 

“I hope so,” she says quietly. “I need you to check up on B –“ she hesitates around the nickname. “On Brittany.”

It’s a little shocking to hear that name from Santana’s mouth. Rachel can’t remember the last time she even mentioned Brittany. Certainly not since the breakup, so she knows she has to tread carefully.

“And how might I do that?” she asks.

“You call her, and take her out for drinks,” Santana replies softly.

“Is she – Does Brittany live in New York?”

“For about six months now,” Santana says gruffly. “I just need you to make sure she’s you know, taking care of herself or whatever.”

“Santana, she’s not a sixteen year old girl anymore,” Rachel points out. “I’m sure she’s fine.”

“Just do it, Berry,” she snaps and Rachel winces. Santana Lopez has an uncanny knack for intimidating the hell out of her, even after all these years.

“Please,” she adds softly after a few moments.

“Okay,” Rachel replies. “Give me her number and I’ll call her right away.”

“Thank you, Rachel.”

“Do you – Do you want me to let you know how she is, or is this more of an only desperate measures kind of thing?”

“Let me know, please.”

“Are you sure?” Rachel can’t help but ask. Honestly if it was her, she wasn’t entirely sure she’d want to know. Good or bad, it just struck her as a little soul crushing.

“She’s still Brittany,” Santana replies. “She’s still my best friend, even if she is being totally ridiculous and reckless.”

“Well if you’re sure then.”

“I am, I’ll text you the number,” Santana says. “Talk to you soon, Berry.”

“Bye, Santana.” 

 

_”Are you sure I have to be there for this?” Rachel tries desperately to keep the quiver out of her voice. She knows that if she goes down that road, Quinn will follow and then they’ll both be freaking out and they’ll never make it through this dinner._

_“Yes,” Quinn calls, sticking her head out of the bathroom to shoot Rachel a pointed look._

_“They aren’t even my friends,” Rachel says, rubbing her hands nervously over her jeans. “In fact I’m fairly sure both of them have hated me since kindergarten.”_

_“You’re too little and cute for Brittany to really hate you. She’ll probably ask if she can put you in her pocket or something,” Quinn replies, as Rachel slips into the bathroom, glancing at Quinn’s reflection as she runs a mascara brush through her eyelashes. “Santana doesn’t like anyone except for Brittany, so we’re in the same boat there. She also may have mentioned that she’s pretty sure I have no friends here, so you’re coming along as my proof.”_

_Rachel takes a step in closer, and tentatively wraps her arms around Quinn’s waist from behind. Most of the time touching Quinn isn’t a big deal, but sometimes she still freaks out a little. Apparently she needs the support because a few seconds later Quinn leans back into her. When she does Rachel can’t help but push a little more and brush her lips against Quinn’s shoulder. “A friend huh?” she hums against her skin. “Is that what I am?”_

_Quinn places her mascara down on the sink and spins in Rachel’s arms. Her left eyebrow is cocked, as she reaches out and twirls a lock of Rachel’s hair around her index finger. “Yeah,” she says, smirking. “We’re friends.” With that she leans down and presses a quick kiss to Rachel’s lips._

_Rachel frowns. “I’m pretty sure I never saw you do that with your ‘friends’ Brittany and Santana.”_

_Quinn grins. “Just because you didn’t see it, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”_

_Rachel swats at her arm, and not lightly. “Quinn! I don’t want to hear about your kinky Cheerio threesomes!”_

_“Let’s not exaggerate.” Quinn rolls her eyes. “Well,” she asks after a moment of twisting her fingers through Rachel’s hair. “If we aren’t friends then what are we?”_

_Rachel has no idea how to approach this subject, and can’t help feeling like any real answer will send Quinn heading for the hills. “If you say that we’re friends then I guess we’re friends,” she says finally, loosening her grip on Quinn’s hips._

_One of Quinn’s hands falls to Rachel’s wrist and keeps her from pulling away completely. “Rachel.”_

_“I’m serious, Quinn, if – if that’s what you want us to be then that’s what we’ll be,” Rachel says, hating the way her voice shakes. “We – we don’t have to do any of this okay?” Maybe it’s silly to worry about it when Quinn was kissing her just a few seconds ago, but she can’t help it._

_Quinn looks at her, her eyes pleading in a way Rachel doesn’t really understand, and says, “Look I – I just don’t like this.”_

_Rachel’s heart sinks so fast that she can’t help the little gasp that slips past her lips. She manages to smile, a little wryly, before pulling away altogether, practically wrenching her wrist from Quinn’s grasp. “Okay. Then we’ll stop. Look it’s not like we were – we haven’t even – “ she mumbles inarticulately._

_“No, that’s not what I mean,” Quinn says, her expression pained. “I just meant like – I hate not knowing how you feel and – and whether or not you’re talking to other people or if you’re seeing anyone else,” she says, frowning. “I asked because I need you to tell me what this is.”_

_Rachel’s immediately relieved, and god, it’s so masochistic, but she can’t stop herself from falling in love with Quinn, just a little, just in this moment. “Why do I have to decide? I mean I already gave you the dramatic late night confession,” Rachel jokes._

_“Yeah, and I kissed you first, so it’s your turn,” Quinn shoots back._

_Rachel rolls her eyes a little at that before stepping forward and curving her palms over Quinn’s hips. “Quinn,” she says, batting her eyelashes for a little levity, it falls flat because she’s nervous. “Do you want to be my girlfriend?”_

_Quinn’s blushing hard when she sort of scoffs and nods at the same time._

_“I’m sorry what was that?” Rachel asks, biting back laughter._

_“That was a yes, you goon,” Quinn says, dropping a kiss to Rachel’s cheek before turning around to touch up her makeup._

_Rachel knows she’s grinning like an idiot so she ducks down and presses her forehead between Quinn’s shoulder blades._

_“Excellent,” she breathes. “So, as your girlfriend I would like to formally request that we do not – “_

_“Yeah, we’re still going to dinner with Brittany and Santana.”_

 

The text with Brittany’s number buzzes through just seconds after she hangs up her call with Santana. She plugs the number into her phone and hits the call button. After a few seconds of listening to a ringback tone that sounds too much like a polyphonic version of R. Kelly’s ‘Remix to Ignition’ to be anything else, a familiar voice comes over the line.

“Hello?” 

“Hi, Brittany,” Rachel says, a small smile creeping up on her lips at just the sound of Brittany’s voice. “It’s Rachel Berry.”

“Oh my god!” she squeaks excitedly. “Rachel! I can’t believe it! Yay!”

Brittany’s happiness is catching, because when she starts to laugh seconds later Rachel joins in, suddenly feeling the happiest she’s been since getting to New York.

“I’ve missed you Brittany,” she grins into the receiver.

“You too! It’s been forever. I was worried I’d have to pick a new smallest friend,” she replies. “Wait, this a New York number isn’t it? Are you in New York?”

“Yeah, I am,” Rachel says. “I just moved into my new place today.”

“Wow, for good?” Brittany asks.

“I don’t really know.” Rachel lets out a small laugh. “I finished up work in LA, and I’m not really planning on doing anything else for a while. At least until the summer’s over.”

“Weird,” Brittany says after a moments pause. “I can’t remember the last time you didn’t have something going on.”

“Nor can I.”

“This is crazy, Rach,” Brittany gushes. “How did you even get my number? Oh, wait dumb question," she laughs. "She still think I’m being ridiculous?”

Rachel chuckles and says, “Yes. Is she right?”

“Yeah, but like, she’s always thought that about me. She’s just mad that I’m being ridiculous on the other side of the country,” Brittany points out. “Did she tell you to check up on me?”

“Brittany –“ Rachel says carefully.

“No it’s okay. I’m just excited to hear from you,” she laughs. “Whatever the reason.”

“Listen, we have a lot to catch up on, Miss Pearce,” Rachel says. “Do you want to meet for drinks tonight?”

“Totally, but I have rehearsals,” Brittany says. “How’s Thursday? Are you free?”

“I’m pretty much free for the foreseeable future, so yes.” Rachel smiles. “Wait rehearsals for what?”

“I’m choreographing a show. Like, a real Rachel-Berry-musical kind of show!” Brittany says excitedly. “I’ll tell you all about it at drinks.”

“Perfect. I’ll text you before then with details,” Rachel replies. “I’ll see you Thursday.”

“Bye, Rach,” Brittany says, the line disconnects seconds later. Rachel opens the calendar in her phone and plugs in a reminder for herself for Thursday. As she types it in, her eyes fall on the following day. 

It’s not something she ever meant to keep track of. It’s not exactly a happy anniversary, and it’s definitely not something she wants to revisit every year. But no matter how hard she tries, no matter how busy she makes her schedule, the significance of the date never really seems to slip away. The possibility that this year, she’ll have the whole day stretched out before her, with no work and no plans, is daunting. She can feel a migraine coming on and with a shaky hand she sets her phone down and tries to will her heart to stop racing.

 

_The restaurant is packed, but even through the dinner conversation white noise, they’re impossible to miss. They’re huddled close together in one half of a booth and Brittany is curling a piece of Santana’s hair around her finger over and over again while they talk quietly. It reminds Rachel a little of watching Siegfried and Roy tame their tigers and she immediately feels embarrassed for comparing Santana to an animal, but then some things are just well – apt._

_Brittany catches sight of them weaving around the tables and shoots to her feet, beaming and calling out to them. When they’re a few feet away Brittany launches forward and picks Quinn up in a bear hug._

_“Quinn! I'm so happy you’re here!” She spins them around a little and Quinn squirms._

_“B, let me down! We’re in public!” Quinn cries. Brittany laughs and places Quinn back on the ground. They embrace briefly before Brittany turns to Rachel._

_“Hi, Rachel.” She grins before pulling her into a slightly more conservative hug. “It’s good to see you too.”_

_“Hi, Brittany,” Rachel manages to murmur around the nervous lump in her throat. Brittany detaches, grabs one of Rachel’s hands and one of Quinn’s and leads them over to their booth. Santana doesn’t make a move to stand, but slides over on the bench enough for Quinn to be able lean down and place a quick peck on her cheek._

_“Hi, Santana.”_

_“Hey, Q,” she says. “Long time no see.”_

_“It has been awhile,” Quinn replies, sliding into the opposite bench. Rachel somewhat timidly follows after her._

_“Berry.” Santana nods curtly._

_“Hello, Santana.”_

_Brittany claps her hands together excitedly. “Rachel, I forgot how little you are! I could totally carry you around in my pocket!”_

_“So Rachel, how’s the whole acting thing going?”_

_Rachel is so startled by the sound of Santana’s voice that she almost drops her fork. After half an hour of Brittany babbling away about whatever popped into her head, Rachel was sort of still holding out the hope that everyone had just forgotten that she was there._

_“Oh it’s going okay,” she stutters finally. “Still waiting for my ‘big break’ as they say, but I’m willing to pay my dues.”_

_“You’re done school then?”_

_“Yes, it’s just auditioning and acting for me now.”_

_“And you enjoy it?” Santana goes on._

_“Yes. Very much.”_

_“Does it pay the bills?” she asks as Quinn drops a hand to Rachel’s thigh; her reassuring squeeze hidden beneath the tabletop._

_“Well, I also waitress to supplement when work is slow.”_

_“Where?” Santana asks, barely waiting for her to finish responding to the last question._

_“A small bar a couple blocks from our apartment.”_

_“And how long have you and Quinn been having sex?”_

_Next to her Quinn suddenly sputters, choking on her drink for second before croaking out, “Santana!”_

_Brittany looks between Rachel, Quinn and Santana before a sunny grin settles on her features._

_“I – uh, we – “ Rachel mumbles, eyeing a still struggling Quinn, hoping for support. “What are you talking about?”_

_“Please.” Santana gives Rachel a look. “Nobody knows Quinn better than I do. Cut the bullshit and spill.”_

_“We aren’t having sex,” Rachel replies in a shaky voice. It’s not even a lie, but she knows she doesn’t sound even slightly convincing._

_“Oh so Q hasn’t given it up yet?” Santana sneers. “Is she making you pray every time you make out? Still a hypocrite all these years later, Quinn? Is there a celibacy club at Columbia?”_

_“Don’t speak to her that.” It comes out quiet but menacing, dropping from Rachel’s mouth so reflexively that she doesn’t even realize she’s said it until everyone at the table is staring at her._

_“Rachel,” Quinn mutters. “Don’t.”_

_“No,” Rachel says, her voice gaining strength. “I don’t understand why you’re even friends with her, Quinn. She’s been this way as long as I’ve known her. She can’t feel good about herself unless she’s putting someone else down. She’s – she’s toxic. You don’t need someone like her in your life.”_

_A strange quiet settles over the table for a beat, until much to Rachel’s surprise Santana laughs and says, “Thought you might be hiding a backbone under there.” With that she turns to Brittany and the conversation is apparently over._

_An hour later they’re standing outside the restaurant saying their goodbyes. Brittany hugs them both and Santana steps forward and wraps her arms around Quinn, and Rachel makes out a low murmur and when they separate their eyes are locked and Quinn nods. Santana turns to Rachel then and grins._

_“Take care of our girl.” She touches her hand to Rachel’s shoulder. “I’m sure we’ll see one another soon.”_

_With a final wave and a promise to keep in touch Brittany and Santana disappear down the street, pinkies firmly locked together._

_Rachel gives Quinn a bewildered look. “I have no idea what just happened.”_

_Quinn shakes her head. “Me neither. I don’t think I’ll ever understand what goes on inside either of their heads.”_

_“That’s probably for the best,” Rachel points out, nudging Quinn lightly with her elbow. “I have a feeling the inside of Santana’s brain is a terrifying place.”_

_Quinn laughs and adds, “Sure, but can you imagine the inside of Brittany’s?”_

_“I don’t think I could even try.” Rachel tucks an arm around Quinn, squeezing for a moment. “Let’s go home.”_

 

She wakes with a start at the sound of her phone vibrating across the couch and then crashing to the floor. The leather sticks to her cheek before peeling away when she sits up, blearily rubbing at her eyes. They’re blurry and sticky from not having taken her makeup off last night and she’s briefly disoriented when the blank white walls of her apartment offer no clue as to her whereabouts. A moment later her brain kicks in and she vaguely remembers watching a movie on AMC and being too tired to move by the time it was over. 

Her phone vibrates again, skittering a little along the hardwood and she reaches down and peers at the time. It’s almost one in the afternoon. She’s never slept this late in her life.

She has about a thousand missed alerts, the first being from Santana asking about Brittany. She sends a quick text to let her know about their plans to meet up. 

Barely a second later her phone lights up and vibrates with an incoming call from her agent. It was probably foolish of her to think he would actually leave her alone like she asked, so she rolls her eyes and answers.

“Hello, Steven.”

“Rachel Barbra Berry, where the hell do you get off ignoring my calls?” he shouts down the line.

“Always a pleasure to wake up to your soothing voice,” Rachel replies with a huff. 

“Darling, there’s no need to be so hostile,” he says, his voicing slipping into his greasiest, most condescending tone. “You know I’m only trying to look out for your best interests.”

“I’m sure,” Rachel replies. To an extent he probably is looking out for her interests, at least the ones that have a bearing on his cut of the profits. “And what pray tell, is in my best interest this morning?”

“Coming back to LA for starters.”

“Absolutely not,” Rachel says. “We’ve already discussed this at length I’m not doing anything until – “

“That was before you were offered your own show,” he cuts her off, sounding smugger than anyone should be capable of sounding.

“What are you talking about?” Rachel asks.

“Well after your extremely successful guest spot, the network is interested in producing a spin-off starring you, my dear.”

“They killed my character off at the end of the season,” Rachel snorts. “Is it going to be a show about ghosts?”

“It would be more of a prequel.” 

Rachel knows she should be tempted by this. Maybe it’s not Fanny Brice, or Evita or Laurey, but she would be the star and a few years ago that would’ve been more than enough to pick up her life and head back to California. She’s done it once before, more or less on a wing and prayer, when the stakes had been so very much higher. She’s not tempted though, not even a little bit.

“When would production start?” she asks anyways, just to humor him.

“As soon as you can get back,” he says. “The offer has a time limit so we need you here ASAP.”

“I’m sorry, Steven, but no. I told you, I want the summer.”

“Are you still on that kick Rachel?” Steven mocks. “You’re really working on _deserving_ that rep of yours aren’t you? Do you have any idea how many girls in your shoes would kill for a shot at their own series?”

“Goodbye, Steven,” she replies, stung.

“Rachel Berry, do not hang up the ph-“

It’s wholly satisfying to cut his voice off with a single press of her finger. If only it were that easy in person. They’d probably get along much better. He calls back almost immediately and she ignores the call just as quick, slipping her phone beneath couch for the time being. She heads off to the kitchen in search of something to wash away the bitter taste that speaking to her agent always seems to leave in her mouth.

 

_Rachel’s heart is pounding so hard it almost feels as if her whole body is just a singular, throbbing pulse. It’s so embarrassing and a little terrifying and her hands are shaking even though they’re just resting, very respectfully, at Quinn’s waist. Quinn’s been a little bolder this afternoon, even if Rachel does have a theory that most of it is pure bravado on her part. She doesn’t mind so much when she’s shirtless and Quinn’s body is pressing her into the mattress as she trails kisses and little nips along the skin of her neck._

_Quinn pulls back enough that their eyes meet for a moment before she smiles shyly and ducks her head a little. She leans in and sucks lightly at Rachel’s bottom lip. It feels like an invitation so Rachel takes a chance, tilting her hips up and rolling them until Quinn’s back hits the duvet and their positions are reversed._

_Quinn’s cheeks are tinted pink and her hair is disheveled from Rachel running her fingers through it. The flush that colors her cheeks dapples her skin all the way down to where it meets the fabric of her v-neck._

_“You’re really beautiful,” Rachel says, sounding more timid than suave. “You’ve always been so beautiful.”_

_Quinn rolls her eyes and looks away. “Not always,” she mutters softly._

_Rachel immediately recognizes her mistake and reaches for Quinn’s hand. “Look at me,” she says._

_After a beat Quinn does._

_“I’m not just saying that because you have a very symmetrical nose and a talented colorist,” Rachel says, her voice low and sincere. “Those make up such a tiny piece of what makes you so beautiful okay? They’re not even close to the most important part.”_

_“Well there’s no need to be so heavy handed, Rachel,” Quinn says, chuckling a little. “It’s okay,” she adds, dropping a hand to Rachel’s hip and squeezing._

_It feels like the right moment to get back to kissing her, so Rachel does. Her hands fall to the hem of Quinn’s shirt, just grazing her bare skin as she starts to pull it upwards, rocking back on her knees to get it over Quinn’s head._

_Quinn licks her lips and pulls Rachel back down, kissing her with something bordering on desperation. Rachel trails a hand up her side, letting the edge of her thumb slip just beneath the cup of her bra. Quinn lets out a low moan, right into Rachel’s mouth, and it startles them both._

_Rachel pulls back, panting a little. “Are you okay?”_

_Quinn squirms. “I’m fine, it just – tickled,” she says weakly._

_Rachel laughs. “It’s okay if it felt good you know. It’s supposed to.”_

_Quinn flushes. “I know that – it’s just I – “ she mumbles something incoherently._

_“Sorry?” Rachel asks._

_“My therapist thinks I have issues with intimacy,” Quinn says, clearing her throat and glancing up at the ceiling._

_“Oh,” Rachel says. “Your therapist? You have a therapist?”_

_Quinn cocks an eyebrow. “Dr. Kandrack? I’ve definitely mentioned her before.”_

_The name clicks instantly. “She’s your therapist? I thought she was some prof you hated! You talk about her like she’s the devil.”_

_Quinn half shrugs. “They aren’t dissimilar. Weirdly enough her first name is Eve.”_

_They both laugh for a few moments before Quinn’s expression abruptly shifts to something both serious and tentative._

_“Is – is it okay that I have a therapist? I mean this isn’t gonna send you running for the hills or anything?”_

_Rachel furrows her brow. “Oh honey no, of course not,” she assures her quickly. “I mean – does it help? Are you - do you feel better afterwards?”_

_Quinn seems to consider that for a moment and then grudgingly says, “Yeah. I do.”_

_“Then that’s all that matters to me.”_

_Quinn takes a deep breath and nods. “Okay, well this seems like about as awful a time as any to bring this up, but in our last session I told her that we – that I’m ready to – “ she trails off, visibly struggling._

_“Make love?” Rachel supplies._

_“Oh ew, Rachel.” Quinn wrinkles her nose. “If you call it that ever again I swear on all that is holy you will never see me naked.”_

_Rachel swats at her hip and narrows her eyes. Quinn just grins back, reaching up to tuck a piece of Rachel’s hair behind her ear. Her hand shifts, drifting down to cup Rachel’s cheek. She sweeps her thumb along her cheekbone, all the way to the bridge of her nose._

_“Do you want this?” Quinn asks softly. “With me?”_

_In that moment Rachel is sure that the only answer to that question is, and will always be, “Yes.”_

 

Brittany hasn’t changed a bit. Maybe it’s strange to think that, seeing as it’s only been about a year since they’ve seen each other. It feels like much longer, though. After the break up Santana and Brittany both dropped off the face of the earth for months. Neither of them answered her calls, and it wasn’t until she actually tracked Santana down at her office last month that she even knew any details. Even then, it’s not as if Santana is known for her willingness to discuss those sorts of things. She got about a sentence out of her, just that Brittany had moved out in December.

“It’s so weird,” Brittany says after dragging Rachel through the crowded bar to a table near the back. “but I keep having these dreams about you, and you’re always dressed as that tiny leprechaun from Lucky Charms and – “

Rachel cuts her off with a wry look. “Brittany, I’m 5’4.”

“No you’re not.” Brittany gives a sunny laugh. “There’s no way you’re taller than 5’2.”

“It says so on my license,” Rachel says, outraged.

“Stand up, we’ll measure. I’m 5’8 and I know you’re at least six inches shorter than me.”

The truth is that Brittany is definitely at least half a foot taller than her, and Rachel has been lying about her height for years.

“No thanks,” she ducks her head and grins. “So, tell me about this show you’re choreographing?”

“Oh yeah!” she claps her hands excitedly. “Right, so. When I moved out here I really had no idea what I was going to do you know? I didn’t have a job or anything like, I had enough money to pay a couple months rent in a teeny place, but other than that I was just kind of lost.”

Rachel nods and Brittany goes on.

“But then I ran into a guy who used to work for this artist I toured with a few years back. He was supposed to do the show, but I guess he got different job,” she says with a shrug. “So he got me this one, and now I guess I choreograph musicals.” 

“That’s great.” Rachel smiles and pats her arm. “I’m sure you’re great at it. You and Mike were responsible for all of our best glee club performances, so I have no doubt that you’re doing a wonderful job.”

“Thanks!” she replies. “And I totally get it now. In high school I kind of wanted to punch you every time you talked about musicals, but it’s awesome. I’m having such a good time.”

Her enthusiasm is so catching that Rachel can’t even bring herself to be offended that Brittany wanted to hit her in high school. “There’s really nothing like it, is there?” she says, grinning.

“Nope.” Brittany cocks her head and gives Rachel a look. “Is that why you’re back, Rach? Are you thinking about getting back into it?”

Rachel lets out a small, deprecating laugh. “Can a person get back into something they never really had in the first place?” 

“Well I know you didn’t really work _here_ ,” Brittany says. “but you did that show in London?”

“ _Wicked_ ,” Rachel supplies softly. Sometimes it still feels like something she dreamed up.

“Yeah!” 

“Well, anyways,” Rachel says, shrugging. “I have no plans to work for the time being. At least until the summer’s out. I’m not – I’m not really sure why I’m back, to be honest.”

“That’s okay, I kind of get that.” Brittany nods knowingly. “People always end up where they’re supposed to be. You’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah?” Rachel raises an eyebrow. “So do you think New York is where you’re supposed to be?”

“Yes,” Brittany replies simply.

“I can think of a person who probably feels quite differently,” Rachel say gently.

Brittany hums and rolls her eyes. “I was wondering when this would come up.”

“She’s just trying to look out for you, Brittany,” Rachel points out.

“Just like always,” Brittany replies, sounding so sad that something twists in Rachel’s gut.

Rachel reaches out to cover Brittany’s hand with her own and softly asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Brittany smiles dimly and shakes her head, but she looks like maybe there is something she wants to say.

“Well,” Rachel says. “Is there anything in particular you did want to talk about?”

Brittany eyes her for a moment before she says, “Don’t get mad, okay?”

“Why would I get mad, Brittany?”

“Because I’m gonna ask you something you probably won’t want to answer.”

Rachel feels her throat lock up at her tone of voice.

“Rachel,” Brittany says softly. “Are you sure you aren’t back for her?”

 

_“I’ve never seen you like this.”_

_“Like what?” Quinn mumbles distractedly, adjusting her hair in the bathroom mirror._

_Rachel leans her hip against the doorway, laughs and says, “Nervous.”_

_Quinn shoots her a dirty look. “I’m not nervous.”_

_“Quinn,” Rachel replies. “You’re shaking like a leaf. I can see it.”_

_Quinn looks at herself one last time in the mirror before turning to Rachel, her lower lip caught between her teeth. “I’m petrified.”_

_“Why?” Rachel asks, stepping aside to allow Quinn to pass before following her towards the door. Quinn leans down and slips into a pair of heels that leave her positively towering over Rachel in her bare feet._

_“This is just a really big deal,” Quinn says finally, with a shaky shrug. “They’re one of the biggest firms in the city.”_

_“And they wanted you,” Rachel points out, curling her fingers around the collar of Quinn’s blazer. “They picked you, Quinn.”_

_Quinn rolls her eyes. “People make mistakes.”_

_“They didn’t,” Rachel says emphatically, tugging Quinn down to her level._

_Quinn sighs. “Sorry I’m just – “ she says. “I just really want to be good at this.”_

_Rachel can’t help but laugh. “I’ve never seen you try something you haven’t been at least halfway decent at. It’s a little disgusting, actually.”_

_“Rachel, this isn’t glee club or cheerleading.” Quinn says. “This is an articling position with a very important law firm. This is potentially the rest of my life, okay?”_

_“I know, baby,” Rachel says. “But I promise you that by the end of the day they will be thanking their lucky stars that they picked you.”_

_“Okay well, now I feel like you’re just setting me up to fail.”_

_Rachel laughs and presses a quick kiss to the corner of Quinn’s mouth. “You’re going to be great, okay? You’re Quinn Fabray, remember?”_

_Quinn rolls her eyes._

_“Say it with me,” Rachel says with a grin. “I’m Quinn Fabray.”_

_“Oh my god,” Quinn says, rolling her eyes. “I don’t have time for this, you lunatic.” She pulls away and gathers her jacket and briefcase and says, “You’re meeting me for lunch, right?”_

_Rachel nods. “Of course.”_

_Quinn straightens her shoulders and takes a deep breath. “Okay, well I’ll see you.”_

_Rachel lifts up on to her toes and kisses Quinn on the cheek and murmurs, “I love you, knock 'em dead.”_

_When she pulls away Quinn’s eyes are wide and her mouth has fallen slightly open. It’s not exactly the reaction Rachel was hoping for. They stand there silently for a few moments before Quinn abruptly reaches for the doorknob and slips outside._

_She spots Quinn first, walking down Lexington at a brisk pace._

_“Quinn!” she calls out, and when Quinn sees her, her face stretches into the biggest, goofiest looking smile Rachel has ever seen._

_When they meet, right in the middle of the sidewalk, Rachel doesn’t even have time to say anything before Quinn is hauling her up into a fierce, bone-crushing hug._

_“I take it your first day is going well,” Rachel says breathlessly, when Quinn sets her down._

_“I spilt coffee all over one of the associates,” Quinn says, her eyes bright. “There’s a good chance that I’ll be fired by the end of the day but –“ she trails off, reaching for one of Rachel’s hands and tangling their fingers together. “It’s kind of amazing.”_

_Rachel smiles and says, “I’m glad.”_

_Quinn stares at her for a long moment before finally murmuring, “I love you too,” and dragging Rachel off down the street._

 

In a display of acting that is probably sufficient grounds to strip her of her Emmy, she takes a shaky sip of her drink and says, “I’m not sure who you’re referring to, Brittany.”

Brittany laughs and shakes her head. “Don’t play dumb, Rachel.”

Rachel just sits back and crosses her arms over her chest. She can feel her heart thumping wildly against where her hand is digging into her skin.

Brittany watches her for a long moment, before rolling her eyes. “Fine. We can do this the hard way. You wanna know why I think you’re back? Like really?”

Rachel swallows hard and mumbles, “No.”

“Too bad,” Brittany replies, leaning toward her across the table. “I think you’re back for Quinn. I think you’ve finally got the guts to go talk to her.”

Rachel laughs bitterly, because Brittany could not be more wrong. Especially on the second count.

“I’m not back for – her,” Rachel says. “And I’m not talking about this with you.”

“Why not?” Brittany presses.

“Because it’s none of your business,” Rachel says lowly.

“Well maybe it should be!” Brittany says, curling her fingers tightly around the edge of the table. “I mean, you’re obviously too chicken to admit that you’re not okay, so why shouldn’t it be my business? None of you will ever admit that you’re sad and you all just pretend you’re okay when everyone can tell that you aren’t.”

“Brittany, stop.”

“No! I’m so sick of you guys being so dumb about your feelings.”

“Look, I don’t know what happened between you and Santana – “

“Don’t,” Brittany cuts her off, her voice cold. 

For a few minutes a thick, tense silence stretches out between them. Rachel thinks about getting up and leaving, but then Brittany pins her to her seat with a heartbroken look.

“Do you know how long it’s been since the last time I talked to Quinn?”

Rachel bites down on her bottom lip and shakes her head.

“Almost exactly four years,” Brittany says. “She stopped talking to us – after everything. I don’t know why, but she just – couldn’t, I guess. It was a probably a stupid idea but I thought that if she saw me in person that she’d have to talk, you know?”

“Brittany, I don’t – “

“She was so mad she almost didn’t let me in,” Brittany mumbles, cutting Rachel off. “She only let me stay for like, fifteen minutes before kicking me out. After that – I don’t know, it just got too hard to keep trying just to get shot down.”

“Why are you telling me this, Brittany?” Rachel says, pain blooming at the back of her throat.

“Because I have something for you.”

Brittany ducks beneath the table for a moment to rummage through her purse, before returning with a small piece of paper tucked in her hand. She sets it down on the tabletop and slides it towards Rachel.

“What is it?”

“Quinn’s address,” Brittany says softly. “I got it from her mom,” she adds when Rachel shoots her a questioning look.

“Brittany,” Rachel says, her voice thick with unshed tears. “I don’t know what you’re asking of me.”

Brittany shrugs and offers Rachel a broken little smile. “I just miss my friend and I don’t know how to get her back. But I think that maybe if you fix things between you guys, then everything else will get better too.”

Rachel laughs weakly. “You’re wrong. Even if I – even if I _could_ talk to her, there is no way she’d ever speak to me. Not now.”

“But can’t you just try?”

Rachel pushes the slip of paper back towards Brittany and shakes her head. “I’m sorry, but my answer is no.”

Rachel ducks her head, blinking desperately at the tears that are already clinging to her eyelashes. It’s quiet for a beat before the scrape of Brittany’s chair breaks apart the stillness. Rachel doesn’t look up, but she can feel Brittany get closer until there’s a gentle hand resting on her shoulder.

“You’re braver than this,” Brittany says, and then she’s gone.

When Rachel finally lifts her gaze the little piece of paper is still sitting in the middle of the table. 

She works her way through four more glasses of wine before she leaves because the idea of taking it with her – slipping it into her pocket like it’s just any scrap of paper – is just unthinkable, but then, leaving it behind feels equally impossible.

When she’s good and drunk she finally tucks it into her purse, throws a handful of twenties down on the table and hails herself a cab.

 

_”Well, hi there.”_

_Quinn’s voice snaps Rachel out of the light doze she’s been drifting in and out of for the past few hours. She yawns sleepily and arches her back to watch Quinn hang up her coat and set her briefcase by the door._

_“Hey,” she says, crooking a finger, beckoning Quinn to join her._

_Quinn settles on the floor near her head and says, “Lift up for a sec.” When she does Quinn slips the throw pillow out from under her and settles Rachel’s head in her lap. “What are you doing here? I thought you had rehearsals all day.”_

_Rachel glances up at her and says, “Cancelled. The director and the producer are fighting again, something about the budget.”_

_Quinn offers her a small smile and cards her fingers through Rachel’s hair, scratching lightly at her scalp. “How many cancelled rehearsals is this?”_

_“Four in three weeks.”_

_Quinn nods. “You worried they might pull it?”_

_Rachel chews on her bottom lip and nods slightly._

_“It’ll work out,” Quinn says softly. “What did you do with your day off?”_

_“You’re kind of looking at it,” Rachel says with a laugh. “Santana called earlier for you and we talked for a bit.”_

_“How was that?”_

_“Still slightly terrifying, but not so bad,” Rachel replies. “She’s actually quite funny when she’s not verbally abusing me.”_

_“Any other calls?”_

_Rachel blows out a slow breath. “Shelby.”_

_She can feel Quinn’s entire body tense up as the hand in her hair stills, then withdraws completely._

_“Oh?” Quinn manages weakly. “How is she?”_

_“Fine,” Rachel says carefully. “Sounded busy, but in good spirits.”_

_She glances up in time to see Quinn’s throat working, swallowing hard._

_“Did you – did you speak to – “_

_“Beth?” Rachel supplies softly. “For a moment, she was home from school for lunch so she was just in and out the door, I think.” She brings a hand up to press against the side of Quinn’s thigh. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”_

_After a beat Quinn says, “It’s okay. They’re sort of in your life right? So, we should be able to at least – talk about them.”_

_Rachel strokes her fingers lightly along Quinn’s leg. “Shelby asked to me to remind you that her offer still stands. Whenever you’re ready, you’re welcome to be a part of Beth’s life.”_

_Quinn’s laugh comes out sounding raw and forced. “Yeah because that worked out so well last time.”_

_“Quinn, you’re not that person anymore.”_

_“Aren’t I?“ Quinn sighs._

_“Hardly,” Rachel says, poking her index finger into Quinn’s side. “I mean for starters_ that _Quinn Fabray definitely wouldn’t have spent a significant portion of last night sitting on Rachel Berry’s fa – “_

_Quinn’s hand clamps down on her mouth so fast that Rachel doesn’t even have time to suck in a breath to laugh._

_“Oh my god,” Quinn mutters, a blush streaking quickly up her throat. “If you ever want that to happen again I suggest you not finish that sentence.”_

_Rachel snakes a hand around Quinn’s wrist and lifts it off her face after pressing her lips quickly against her palm. “Just illustrating a point.”_

_Quinn just hums for a moment, and falls back into a tense quiet._

_“Just hear me out okay?” Rachel says after a minute or so. “It’s obviously your decision, but I - I hope you know that you’re a person who's worth knowing. I mean, I know that I’m – better for having known you and I think that to a certain extent, you’re doing her a disservice by staying away.”_

_Rachel knows the conversation is over when she feels a light tug at her hair and Quinn says, “I am pretty spectacular.”_

_Rachel chuckles. “Little bit.”_

_She feels warm lips nudging against her forehead after a moment._

_“I got you something today,” Quinn murmurs._

_“Yeah?”_

_“Yeah.”_

 

When Rachel’s phone rings almost a week later she’s surprised to see Brittany’s name flashing across her screen. After their last admittedly disastrous meeting, she hadn’t expected to be hearing from her so soon. Not after how disappointed Brittany had seemed when they parted ways.

“Hi Brittany.” Rachel answers carefully.

“Hi Rach, are you busy right now?” Brittany replies, sounding a little breathless.

Rachel glances around her apartment, taking stock. She’s spent the past four days decorating and it’s starting to actually feel a little more like a real home. Slowly, over the course of the past few days the walls have filled up with paintings and framed pictures. There are a few plants scattered around the living room and kitchen and altogether, the whole place is starting to feel a lot more permanent than Rachel had ever expected it to.

“Not really.” She replies finally, slumping down on her couch. 

“Great because I need to talk to you about something.” 

Rachel’s stomach bottoms out and she says, “Brittany, I told you I can’t – “

“No, no,” Brittany interjects almost immediately. “This isn’t about Quinn.”

Rachel breathes out a sigh of relief. “Okay, well then what’s up?”

“I kind of have a huge favor to ask you.” Brittany says.

“Okay well, what can I do for you?” Rachel asks.

“So you know that show I’m choreographing?”

“Of course. Go on.” Rachel prompts.

“When I showed up at the theatre this morning for dance rehearsals, everyone was totally freaked out and yelling. It was like that time at Sectionals when all our songs got stolen,” Brittany explains. “So I asked what was up, and the director told me that the show might be off because our lead girl just picked up and moved to LA.”

“That’s not very professional,” Rachel says automatically.

“I know, right?” Brittany agrees. “So anyways, unless we find a new lead then they’re gonna cancel the show.”

Rachel suddenly picks up on what Brittany is asking of her and sputters, “No way, Brittany. I told you I’m not working this summer.”

“Rachel, please,” Brittany begs urgently. “Please, please, please. I need you.”

“Brittany, there are hundreds of girls in this city who would gladly take your lead’s spot,” Rachel points out. “I, on the other hand, will not.”

“Well duh,” Brittany says exasperatedly. “But the girl who was our star was kind of a big deal, and if we don’t find anybody who is as at least as famous as she is then the show’s off.”

“Brittany,” Rachel groans, pressing the heel of her hand to her eye socket. “This is – This is a lot to ask somebody.”

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important,” Brittany says pleadingly. “I really need you.”

Rachel finally sighs and asks, “How long is the run?”

“We open in September, I mean if you say yes then we open in September,” Brittany replies. “And then we’re only scheduled for a three month run, more I guess, if people like it.”

Rachel mulls it over in your head for a few moments before shaking her head and saying, “Have a script sent over to my apartment. And music. I’ll take a look at it.”

“Thank you so much, Rachel!” Brittany squeals.

“Brittany,” Rachel warns. “I’m not promising anything.”

“I know,” she says easily. “But I also know that you’re totally gonna love it.”

“I’ll take a look,” Rachel repeats firmly. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

“I won’t,” Brittany says in a voice that leads Rachel to believe that ‘getting her hopes up’ is exactly what she plans on doing.

Rachel heaves an exaggerated sigh. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Bye, Rachel.”

 

_Rachel has been standing, hunched over the kitchen counter for 20 minutes when Quinn shows up behind her, tentatively pressing against her back. She curls a hand over Rachel’s hip and asks, “What’s wrong?”_

_Rachel shifts a hand off the counter’s edge to tangle her fingers with Quinn’s. “It’s nothing,” she says, “Don’t worry about it.”_

_Quinn tugs at her hand until Rachel finally turns to meet her openly concerned gaze. “Please tell me,” she says, her fingers clamp down slightly on Rachel’s hand._

_Rachel lets out a small laugh and says, “Nobody died Quinn, don’t look so worried.”_

_Quinn grins and shrugs. “You’ve been weird and quiet all week. I mean I haven’t heard you babble about anything in days. It’s hard not to assume the worst.”_

_Rachel delivers a sharp smack to her shoulder. “Hey!”_

_Quinn wrinkles her nose at her for a second. “Just tell me what’s wrong, okay?” she says, slipping around Rachel and hoisting herself up on the counter. “Maybe I can help.”_

_Rachel allows herself to be tugged into the space between Quinn’s knees before hesitantly answering her._

_“It’s not that big of a deal,” she says, forcing her voice to stay light. “I just didn’t get that part I auditioned for.”_

_Quinn cocks her head sympathetically. “That sucks, I’m sorry.”_

_“No, it’s fine,” Rachel assures her, shaking her head. “It’s just that the bar has really been cutting down on my shifts these days, and I haven’t gotten any parts in a while. I – I’m just going to have to ask my dads to help me out with my half of the rent this month.”_

_She extracts herself from Quinn’s grip and tries to keep her shaking hands busy by pulling a damp cloth from the sink and wiping down the countertop. “I know I’m being dramatic about it, but I just don’t like taking money from them.”_

_“Rach,” Quinn calls out softly. “I can just pay your half this month.”_

_Rachel drops the cloth and turns to Quinn with a sour expression. “I’m not taking money from you, Quinn.”_

_“Why not?” Quinn replies. “I mean you’re always going on and on about how this is a partnership, right? So let me pick up the slack for you, partner.” She says the last part of the sentence with a bit of a Western twang, and Rachel laughs a little._

_“Well when I say that I’m usually trying to convince you to do your own laundry,” Rachel says. “This is supposed to be an equal partnership, and I want that to extend to our finances. I’m responsible for half of our rent.”_

_“Me helping you out on rent one time doesn’t somehow turn this into an unequal partnership,” Quinn points out, slipping down off the counter. “I mean, I’m making good money at the firm now. I can easily cover for you this month.”_

_“Quinn,” Rachel sighs, rubbing tiredly at her face._

_“Look, Rachel, I’m offering so that you don’t have to ask your dads okay?”_

_Rachel considers that for a moment. Both options make her stomach churn, and for a few minutes she honestly doesn’t know which is more unappealing. Her fathers have already given her so much, and Quinn is just standing here offering and –_

_“I’m paying you back,” she finally says, shaking a finger in Quinn’s direction. “With interest.”_

_Quinn cocks her eyebrow and laughs, moving forward to plant a kiss to Rachel’s cheek. “If you say so.”_

_“Quinn, I’m dead serious,” Rachel presses. “This is a one time thing.”_

_Quinn rolls her eyes. “You're making this a way bigger deal than it needs to be. I’m paying your half and that’s the end of it, alright?”_

_Rachel gnaws on the inside of her cheek before grudgingly ascending with a nod of her head._

_Quinn smiles and says, “Settled then. You know what we forgot to do this morning?”_

_“What?”_

_“Fact of the day!” Quinn says waggling her eyebrows dramatically._

_“We did,” Rachel replies, slipping past Quinn and walking to the refrigerator. On the door is a day by day calendar that Quinn had bought her. Each day has its own random fact. She pulls off yesterday’s date and reads the few words at the bottom of today’s page._

_“Some species of cockroaches are able to survive up to a month without food.”_

_Quinn’s face goes pale almost immediately. “That is horrifying.”_

 

“I knew you’d come around,” Brittany grins and falls into step with Rachel as she makes her way into the theatre.

“It’s a good show,” she says honestly. “And I always make that distinction very grudgingly. Favor or no favor I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think it was worth getting involved in.”

“Well, thanks,” Brittany says sincerely. “You literally saved my life.”

Rachel scoffs lightly. “Sure, Brittany.”

“Come on.” She links her arm with Rachel’s. “Let me introduce you around.”

 

A half hour later she’s been introduced to the director, every single cast member, and pretty much everyone else affiliated in any way with the show, including the theatre’s janitor.

“Okay well, I think that’s everyone you’ll need to know,” Brittany says as a very confused janitor shuffles away from them. 

“Yeah,” Rachel agrees. “That was a very thorough introduction to the production.”

“Well you know,” Brittany says with an easy grin. “I just want you to feel welcome.”

“I do,” Rachel replies honestly. “Everyone seems really nice.”

“They are,” she nods in agreement and tugs Rachel over to the center of the stage where the actors and director are congregated. “We should get to work, we got like two months of rehearsals to catch you up on.”

Rachel is suddenly nervous. “Oh my god, you’re right. Are you sure I’ll be able to pull this off?”

Brittany nudges her with her elbow. “Duh, you have like the best teacher I know.”

 

It comes as a bit of a surprise, how quickly and easily Rachel slips into the schedule of rehearsing all day, every day. Everyone she'd spoken to during her TV stint in LA had gushed about how lucky she was that her schedule was so tame. It was one of the perks of being a guest star instead of a series regular. Now she's completely immersed in this project, and she hadn’t even realized that it was something she’d missed. 

One evening in late August, with just a few short weeks separating them from opening night, Rachel and Brittany stay late, working through some areas of choreography that Rachel is still struggling with.

“That was way better,” Brittany says, reaching out and adjusting Rachel’s final pose just slightly. “Wanna take a break?”

“Sure,” Rachel replies breathlessly, taking a seat on the edge of the stage. Brittany sits next to her and passes her a water bottle. They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Rachel sipping occasionally at the bottle until her breathing evens out.

“Hey,” Brittany says suddenly. “I sort of have to tell you something.”

Rachel eyes her warily. “What is it?”

“I just feel like I should tell you this, but if it turns out you don’t want to talk about it, then that’s totally cool with me,” she says carefully.

“Okay.”

Brittany turns and crosses her legs so she’s facing Rachel. “Remember when we went out for drinks that night, right after you moved here?”

Rachel nods.

“Well the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like maybe I was pushing you a little bit too hard. I think I was being kind of unfair.” She pauses there for a few moments, looking unsure, before blowing out a breath and quietly saying, “I went to see Quinn.”

Some terrible mixture of pain and panic strikes Rachel sharply, right in the center of her chest.

“She didn’t kick me out after fifteen minutes this time.” Brittany lets out an awkward laugh. “But she did sort of kick me out in the end.”

“Why?” Rachel manages to croak out.

“I told her that you were back in the city.” 

“Oh,” Rachel says softly, trying desperately to parcel out exactly how that makes her feel. “Oh,” she repeats, after coming up completely empty.

“Yeah,” Brittany says. “Like I said, I just thought you should know.”

“Okay,” Rachel replies quietly. 

They spend a few more quiet minutes staring out at the empty seats before Brittany lays a hand on Rachel’s shoulder.

“Let’s work on that number right before intermission okay?”

Rachel shoots her a halfhearted smile. “Okay.”

 

 

_”The plastic casings on the end of shoelaces are called aglets.”_

_“Uh, sorry?” Quinn’s head pokes out of the bedroom, toothbrush dangling from her lips._

_“Fact of the day, dummy,” Rachel replies, heading for the door to pull on a pair of old Converses._

_“Hey where are you going?” Quinn says, ducking back into Rachel’s room quickly and returning without her toothbrush._

_“To take the rent check down to Carl.” Rachel replies, tucking a set of keys into her back pocket._

_“Oh.” Quinn’s gaze widens as she steps into the room. “Um – don’t bother.”_

_Rachel furrows her brow and asks, “Why?”_

_“Don’t get mad okay,” Quinn says sheepishly._

_“Quinn, what’s going on?”_

_“I uh – “ She wrings her hands together nervously. “Already paid it.”_

_Anger flares up, hot and sudden in Rachel’s stomach. Her fists clench at her sides as she takes a few shaky breaths. “Quinn,” she bites out._

_Quinn winces at her tone. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She moves in closer and reaches out a hand, but then seems to think better of it and backs off. “How mad are you on a scale of one to ten?”_

_Rachel glares at her for a long moment before slipping past her into the kitchen. Her checkbook is still sitting at the table and she quickly scribbles one out in Quinn’s name. She walks back to the door and roughly grabs Quinn’s arm, forcing the slip of paper into her hand. “This is yours. I’m going to get some air.”_

_“Rachel.” Quinn catches her elbow as Rachel attempts to storm off. “Please stay, please talk to me about this.”_

_“I can’t talk right now,” Rachel says through clenched teeth. “I need some space to cool off because I’m not capable of having a calm discussion about this with you right now.”_

_“You don’t have to be calm,” Quinn says, pulling slightly at her arm. “But just stay okay? Please don’t leave.”_

_Rachel wrenches her arm away from Quinn’s grasp, but nods curtly. “Fine.”_

_Quinn sighs in relief. “Do you want to sit down?”_

_“No,” Rachel snaps. “Just tell me why.”_

_Quinn eyes her warily for a few moments before she says, “You’ve just seemed so stressed out about money lately. You’re working and auditioning constantly, you’re exhausted all the time. I just wanted to help.”_

_“I don’t want your help,” Rachel says lowly. “Not with this. I’m not – I don’t need a handout.”_

_“I know,” Quinn replies calmly. “It was a stupid idea and I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would upset you this much.”_

_“Really? How did you think I would react?” Rachel’s voice catches angrily. “You knew how humiliating it was for me to accept money from you in the first place. I hated having to do that.”_

_“I know,” Quinn responds, looking a little miserable. “It’s just that I can afford to do it, and I thought it might take some of the pressure off of you.”_

_Rachel shakes her head. “I get it. You make a lot of money.”_

_“Come on, Rachel, that’s not fair.”_

_“Whatever, look, it doesn’t matter.” Rachel runs a hand through her hair. “Take the check. It’s yours.”_

_“Okay,” Quinn says softly, ducking her head._

_“Deposit it,” Rachel adds. “I’ll check to make sure you do, so just do it okay? I don’t ever want to have to talk about this again.”_

_“Okay.”_

_Rachel blows out a shaky breath. Quinn looks so cowed, but Rachel is still too angry to do anything about it._

_“I’m going to go for a walk.”_

_Quinn’s head shoots up. “Really?”_

_“Yeah.” Rachel winces at the wounded expression on Quinn’s face. “I just need to cool off.”_

_“Oh.” Quinn bites her lip. “Okay.”_

_Rachel turns on her heel and walks off, leaving Quinn to stand alone in the living room. As she's unlatching and opening the front door she can feel the weight of Quinn's gaze pressing against her back._

_“Rach,” she calls out softly. “Are we okay?”_

_“Yeah,” Rachel says quietly, turning back in time to catch the relieved smile on Quinn’s face. “I won’t be long,” she adds._

_“Okay.” Quinn steps towards her and hesitantly wraps her arms around Rachel’s waist. The reaction to lean into her body is automatic, and Rachel immediately feels most of the tension in her chest drain away._

_“I love you,” Quinn whispers into Rachel’s hair. “And I really am sorry.”_

_“I love you too,” Rachel breathes._

_“Have a good walk,” Quinn says, pulling away with a small smile._

_Rachel peers up at her. “You wanna come with me?”_

_Quinn’s face brightens immediately. “Are you sure?”_

_Rachel reaches for her hand and laces their fingers together. “Sure, I’m sure.”_

_Quinn grins and grabs her coat. “Let’s go.”_

 

Opening night goes off without a hitch, and so does the rest of the first week of shows, and the next after that too. A few favorable reviews start popping up here and there as the weeks wear on and before she knows it it’s her fourth Friday night of performing and for the first time since they opened the show is sold out. Just as she’s slipping into her dress for the opening number she hears a soft knock at her door.

“Come in,” she says distractedly, fumbling with the zipper of her costume. A few moments later, someone’s hand knocks hers away and slides the zipper into place.

Rachel spins, grinning when she sees who it is. “Hey, Britt.”

“Hi,” she smiles. “Just thought I’d come say hey before the show starts.”

“You know, I’ve never worked with a choreographer that comes to every performance, even after their job is done,” Rachel grins.

“Well this show is like my baby,” she replies easily, leaning against the makeup counter. “What kind of mom would I be if I didn’t make sure it was walking and talking and stuff? Gotta make sure all her parts are working!”

“Well anyways, it’s nice to see you,” Rachel says. “You almost never stop in just to say hi before a show. You’re always running around making sure everything is going to go off without a hitch.” Rachel frowns jokingly and adds, “Should I be worried?”

Brittany lets out a laugh that sounds more than a little forced. Rachel eyes her suspiciously for a moment. “Should I?” she repeats.

Brittany laughs again and shakes her head, though even that she does a little frantically. “I just wanted to check in.” She pulls her cell phone from her pocket. “I should go though. Curtain goes up in five.” She stands and touches her hand to Rachel’s arm. “Break a leg, Rach,” she says before slipping from the room. 

Rachel shakes her head as she watches her leave, resolving to figure out what’s going on with Brittany after the show.

 

Two hours later when the curtain falls for the last time, Rachel is tugged backstage and someone passes her a beer.

“Great show, Rach,” she hears vaguely, before her male lead Josh drags her into a conversation with two ensemble members about some rumor that’s been milling around the Broadway circle. Rachel smiles and nods distractedly, scanning the crowd for Brittany.

A few minutes later she’s sure she spies a flash of blonde hair, but before she can follow after it, someone else drags her away. Seconds later she’s seated in her dressing room with a reporter from BroadwayWorld.com. Rachel answers her questions before excusing herself as politely as she can manage.

She weaves her way through the backstage area, determinedly avoiding everyone who tries to catch her arm, only flashing them a quick grin before moving on. Finally after a few minutes of searching her eyes find Brittany’s back down the hall. She’s talking to two people, one tall brunette Rachel doesn’t recognize, and someone whose shoulder she can just make out beyond Brittany’s back.

“Brittany,” Rachel calls out, setting off down the hall in her direction.

Brittany turns, suddenly no longer concealing the third person standing with her.

Rachel’s feet, and heart, stutter to a dramatic halt when her gaze locks onto Quinn Fabray.

 

_Rachel wakes to the sound of Quinn stumbling in her bedroom door. It’s all but pitch black in the room, save for the digital clock on her bedside table that tells her that it’s nearly 2 in the morning._

_“Quinn?” Rachel’s voice is scratchy with sleep as she squints in the darkness. “What are you doing?”_

_“Hi baby,” Quinn giggles and then a soft crash echoes through the room._

_Rachel flips on her bedside lamp only to find Quinn hopping around the room clutching her foot._

_“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Quinn grinds out from clenched teeth, stumbling and nearly falling on her face. “I stubbed my fucking toe.”_

_“Quinn, are you drunk?” Rachel asks, biting down on a laugh._

_“No,” Quinn replies, eying Rachel glassily for a moment. “Are you?” she asks, snorting slightly._

_“No,” Rachel says, scooting off the bed and approaching Quinn. She wrinkles her nose as she reaches her. “You smell like a distillery.”_

_“Some of the associates took us out after work,” Quinn say. “They opened a tab.” She gazes off into the distance, her expression almost wistful. “They’re so nice,” she finishes softly._

_“I’m sure,” Rachel says with a laugh. “Come on, let’s get you changed.”_

_A ten minute long struggle later, she has Quinn dressed in her pajamas and tucked into bed._

_“Goodnight, my little lush,” she says, curling her body around Quinn’s back._

_“G’night,” she hears mumbled in return._

_Two weeks later it isn’t so adorable when Quinn comes stumbling into her bedroom at half past three in the morning. Rachel had known that one of the partners was hosting a party, and Quinn had promised that she would take it easy._

_“Quinn,” she calls out, but Quinn rushes past her bed and into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her. Rachel follows after her only to find Quinn curled around the toilet, vomiting violently._

_“Oh Quinn,” Rachel murmurs, sitting down beside her and pulling the hair back from her face. “You stupid, stupid girl.”_

_It takes her twenty minutes of heaving to completely empty her stomach of its contents. Rachel rubs her back soothingly when she finally slumps to the side, her body landing awkwardly in Rachel’s lap._

_“I’m sorry,” she whispers, voice still slightly slurred. “That was really gross.”_

_“Yes,” Rachel agrees. “It was. Come on.” She lifts Quinn carefully to her feet, fills the cup by the sink with water and hands it to her. Quinn swishes the water around and then spits it down the drain._

_“Let’s go to bed.”_

_Quinn nods and starts to walk out of the bathroom, only to stumble and knock into the doorframe. Rachel reaches for her, catching her before she slips down the wall, letting Quinn’s head fall to rest heavily on her shoulder._

_“Come on.” Rachel supports her weight all the way to the bed and tucks her in._

_The next morning Quinn stumbles into the kitchen around noon._

_“Hi,” she says wincing as she slides into the seat across the table from Rachel._

_“How are you feeling?” Rachel asks._

_“Not so good,” Quinn replies, tipping her head down to rest cheek first against the surface of the table. “I’m really sorry about last night. Thanks for taking care of me.”_

_“Of course,” Rachel says with a shrug. “I just don’t understand why you do that to yourself.”_

_“It’s kind of hard not to,” Quinn mumbles. “It’s almost expected of us you know? All the schmoozing and such.”_

_“Well why don’t I tag along next time then?” Rachel offers. “I’ll make sure you don’t overindulge.”_

_Quinn lifts her head from the table and shoots her an apologetic look. “That would be great, Rach, but I – I’m not sure how I could explain you coming along.”_

_“You mean other than the truth?” Rachel says with a sigh. “That I’m your girlfriend? No, that would just be embarrassing.”_

_“Come on, Rachel,” Quinn says. “We’ve talked about this, I thought you understood.”_

_Rachel shakes her head. “I don’t. I don’t understand this at all.”_

_“I’m just still really new at this firm and I don’t – “ Quinn pauses, swallowing hard. “I just don’t know how they’ll feel about – us yet. I’m not sure how they’ll react.”_

_Rachel can’t deny that she's a little stung by that, but she just sighs and nods her head. “Sorry I – I know you’re just trying to protect your livelihood – “_

_“Rachel – “_

_“And that’s okay,” Rachel continues, raising her voice just slightly over Quinn’s. “You’re just kind of scarce these days. It would be nice to see you – you know – sober sometime.”_

_“Yeah,” Quinn agrees quietly. “I’m – I’ll work on it, okay?”_

_Rachel really doesn’t feel like she’s in a position to ask for much more than that so she just squares her shoulders and says, “Wanna hear the fact of the day?”_

_Quinn smiles gratefully and nods._

 

Rachel is not entirely sure how long she stands there, her hand still lifted in a halfhearted greeting, feet glued to the carpet, eyes glued to Quinn. It must be a while though because suddenly Brittany is next to her, tugging her hand out of the air and tucking it under her arm. She slowly starts to lead Rachel forward, her feet stumbling a little as they haltingly make their way down the hall together.

“Just breathe okay,” Brittany says under her breath, and it isn’t until she says it, that Rachel even notices that her breath is coming out in shaky, rattling gasps. “And try to come up with a facial expression that people use,” Brittany adds.

For a few moments Rachel doesn’t have the faintest idea what facial expressions normal people employ in a situation like this. She manages to school her features into a small and uneven smile and hopes for the best.

She pulls up short, a few feet in front of the Quinn and the woman standing next to her. Brittany tries to pull Rachel in further, because she’s just shy of casual conversation distance, but Rachel just can’t bring herself to move. For a few agonizing moments, no one speaks, and Rachel’s eyes never leave the floor.

“Um, hi.” A soft, unfamiliar voice draws her attention up and away from the carpet. The woman standing with Quinn holds her hand out towards her. “I’m Jane.”

“Hi, Rachel Berry,” she replies automatically, lightly gripping her hand and shaking it.

Brittany clears her throat and Rachel’s gaze snaps to her face. “Quinn, I can’t believe you actually came. It means a lot.”

Rachel’s chest constricts painfully at just the sound of Quinn’s voice. 

“Well, when _someone_ drops off two tickets to my office every day for three weeks it becomes hard to ignore,” she says, eyeing Brittany pointedly. “It seemed like a bit of a disservice to the show to have two empty front row seats every night.”

Brittany laughs and Quinn smiles tightly. For the first time in the exchange Rachel allows herself a moment to really look at Quinn. She looks taller somehow, though Rachel expects that’s probably just something her brain is tricking her into seeing, considering the situation. Her dress is simple and black and her hair is longer than it was when they last saw one another. but god –

Rachel was really hoping that she could look at Quinn and see a stranger, but every part of her is still so familiar that it makes her _ache_ from her head to her toes.

“There’s a nice bar about a block over,” Brittany offers. “The rest of these guys will probably end up there once they clear out of here. You guys should come.”

“No,” Quinn replies quickly, her voice catching nervously. “I mean, no, thank you. We have work in the morning.”

“But tomorrow’s Saturday,” Rachel finds herself blurting to her surprise. Everyone else looks pretty shocked as well.

Quinn turns slowly towards her and their eyes lock together for an excruciating moment. 

“Thank you for inviting us,” Jane cuts in suddenly and Quinn looks away. “But Quinn’s right. We have a very busy day tomorrow. It was so nice meeting you though, and your show was wonderful.”

“Thank you,” Rachel replies, offering her a small smile.

Brittany steps forward and wraps her arms around Quinn. “Thank you for being here. Really,” she says softly, her words mostly muffled by Quinn’s shoulder.

“The show was so good,” Quinn says to Brittany. “Really, B. I’d forgotten how great you are at what you do.” 

“Thanks,” Brittany says, beaming as she pulls away.

Quinn’s eyes flit towards Rachel again. “Rachel, you were – “ 

There’s apparently no real end to that sentence because after an endless moment Quinn just looks at Jane and says, “We should go.”

“See you around, Q,” Brittany says. “And It was super nice to talk to you in person Jane.”

Jane laughs, “Yeah, nice to put a face to the voice.”

Quinn nudges at Jane with her elbow until she takes the hint and steps around Rachel with a small wave. 

“Bye, Britt,” Quinn says, following after Jane. “Rachel,” she adds softly before slipping down the crowded hallway.

“She looks good huh?” Brittany says quietly, after Quinn’s back has disappeared around the corner. Rachel just nods, sucks in a wet sounding breath and then takes off after Quinn at a run.

 

_”You’re coming to the show tonight right?” Rachel asks, watching Quinn pull a pencil skirt up over her hips and tuck in her white button up._

_“Of course,” she calls distractedly before ducking into the bathroom. A few minutes later Quinn slips back into the room, makeup done and hair perfectly in place. She pauses for a moment to glare at Rachel, still swaddled deep between the sheets._

_“I’m so jealous that you get to laze around in bed all morning.”_

_Rachel grins and rolls to the edge of the bed. “You could always call in sick and laze around with me.”_

_Quinn laughs as Rachel reaches out and curls a hand around the back of her thigh. “Come on, you never miss work,” Rachel says, squeezing lightly and pulling her towards the bed._

_Quinn runs her fingers through Rachel’s tangled hair. “I can’t today, I’m still on that huge case of Cuddy’s.”_

_Rachel pouts until Quinn leans down and presses a quick peck to her cheek._

_“It feels like you’re always working on one huge case or another,” Rachel grumbles quietly._

_“Something like that,” Quinn replies, backing away and retrieving her briefcase from the foot of the bed._

_“But you’re definitely coming tonight right?” Rachel asks again. “Because it might be the only night I actually get a speaking part. Shannon won’t have the flu forever.”_

_“I’ll be there,” Quinn promises as she leaves the bedroom._

_Rachel burrows herself deeper under the covers and she can just make out Quinn calling, “By the way today’s fact is that the average person takes seven minutes to fall asleep.”_

_Rachel grins and squeezes her eyes shut. She’s pretty confident she can beat that._

_15 hours later Rachel enters their apartment alone. She considers calling out for Quinn, but honestly if she couldn’t care enough to be at Rachel’s show, Rachel doesn’t particularly care enough to find out if she’s home._

_She hits the light switch in the kitchen and her eyes fall immediately on a bouquet of orchids and lilies, lying abandoned on the counter. Next to them a note, obviously scrawled in a hurry, from Quinn._

__I’m so sorry. Cuddy called me in last minute. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I’ll be home late. -Quinn __

_Rachel rereads the sparse words a few times, before crumpling the page and tossing it in the trash._

_The clock by her bed reads just past 2 in the morning when she finally hears her bedroom door creak open. Her eyes slam shut automatically, and she tries to force her breathing to slow enough to convince Quinn that she’s sleeping._

_Quinn moves around the room, quietly opening and closing drawers. She waits to turn on the bathroom light until after the door is closed behind her, a practice she’d adopted after Rachel had reamed her out one night for waking her up with the light._

_A few minutes later she feels the bed dip behind her._

_“Rach?” Quinn asks softly, laying a hand on her shoulder. Rachel shifts away from the touch._

_“I’m sorry,” Quinn whispers._

_“Rachel?”_

_Rachel swallows hard against the sob working its way up her throat._

_“Rachel?”_

 

The crowd of theatergoers has mostly thinned out by the time Rachel bursts out the front door of the theatre, heart leaping unpleasantly in her chest. There’s still a few people milling around on the sidewalk and she vaguely hears a few sounds of recognition as she scans the street for any sign of Quinn.

She spots her and Jane, talking near the edge of the curb about a half a block from where Rachel is standing. There’s a small part of her that longs to call out to Quinn, and have some sort of cinematic reunion right there in the middle of the sidewalk, pedestrians be damned. But she knows that’s her tendency to want to model her life after the movies speaking. Quinn always hated that about her, so instead she jogs over until she’s standing maybe five feet away and quietly calls out Quinn’s name.

Quinn turns and her face freezes up for a moment before smoothing into an expression so neutral and disinterested that it makes Rachel’s eyes sting.

She cocks her head to the side and says, “What can I do for you, Rachel?”

“I – “ Rachel mumbles, wringing her suddenly sweaty hands together. “I know that you said you have to work tomorrow, but I was wondering if you’d maybe want to go grab a coffee, just the two of us. It – It wouldn’t take long. Half hour tops,” she says tremulously.

“I really – “

Quinn trails off when Jane steps forward, and places a hand on her arm.

“I’m going to take off okay?” Rachel hears her say quietly.

“No you don’t have to – “

Jane smiles and says, “It’s late and I know you’ll want me in early tomorrow.”

“We could share a cab,” Quinn says, and she might just be imagining things, but Rachel is sure she hears a desperate edge to Quinn’s voice. 

“We live on opposite ends of the city,” Jane says with a grin. “See you tomorrow.” 

Jane offers Rachel a tiny wave and then takes off into the night.

After a long minute of silence Rachel clears her throat and says, “So coffee?”

Quinn’s gaze narrows slightly. “I can’t.”

Rachel nods and tries to take that small rejection in stride. “Well do you want to meet for dinner sometime?”

Quinn gives a minute shake of her head before stepping to the very edge of the sidewalk and hailing down a cab.

“I really need to get going, Rachel,” she says as a bright yellow taxi comes to a halt at the curb.

“Okay – “ Rachel says, her voice rising as she struggles to maintain some kind of composure. “Okay – well would it be alright if I called you sometime? Just to – god Quinn I mean shouldn’t we _talk_?”

Quinn tugs open the back door of the cab and stares at Rachel for what feels like a lifetime. 

“No,” she says finally, holding Rachel’s gaze evenly.

A wounded sounding breath escapes Rachel’s chest without her permission and her heartbeat starts to pick up.

“Oh my god you’re Rachel Berry!”

Her view of Quinn is suddenly obscured by a middle aged woman and a man who is presumably her husband, both holding the playbill from Rachel’s show.

“You were wonderful tonight,” the man says with a smile.

“Thank you,” Rachel mumbles, lifting up on her toes to try and see over them.

“Would you mind signing this?” the woman asks, thrusting the program into Rachel’s hands and then fishing a pen out from her purse.

“Sure,” Rachel says, quickly scrawling her name across the front page before stepping around the couple with a murmured, “Excuse me.”

The whole encounter couldn’t have lasted longer than thirty seconds, but by the time the couple is thanking her and walking away Quinn and her taxi are gone.

Rachel stands in the middle of the sidewalk, waiting for something she can’t name and shaking from her head to her toes for a full five minutes before she even realizes that she’s just signed her first autograph in New York City.

 

_“Rachel Berry?” The casting director calls and Rachel takes her place at center stage._

_“Hello,” she says, forcing her brightest smile into place._

_“Do you have a song prepared?” he asks, not bothering to look up from the clipboard sitting in his lap._

_“Yes,” Rachel replies calmly. “I have a few, if there’s one in particular that you’d prefer to hear. I can do ‘On My Own’, ‘The Wizard and I’ – “_

_“Do you have anything that I haven’t heard from every single girl I’ve seen today?” he says flippantly._

_“O-Of course,” Rachel stutters, momentarily thrown off balance. “I can do ‘You’re So Vain’ or ‘Sampson’ by Regina Spektor, or-or ‘Thieves’ by-“_

_He holds up a hand to stop her rambling. She swallows hard and not for the first time curses her inability to just keep her mouth shut in these sorts of situations._

_“Just sing something alright?” he calls tiredly. “And make it snappy I’ve had a long day.”_

_Rachel nods frantically for a few moments before taking a deep breath and closes her eyes. A moment later she feels her heart rate slow and something inside her just settles. Some people get nervous when they’re performing, but not Rachel. It’s really the only time she truly feels like herself. Her eyes flutter open and she starts to sing._

_“There’s thieves among us, painting the walls. Telling all kinds of lies, lies I never told at all.”_

_The casting director looks at her blankly as she sings, but she soldiers on._

_“What’s in my pocket? You never knew. You didn’t know me well, so well as I knew you.”_

_She’s been singing for less than a minute when she comes to the all too familiar realization that there’s no way she’s getting the part. The casting director seems much more interested in examining his cuticles than listening to her. The man sitting to his left is watching her curiously, but she’s still pretty certain that she could stop right now, or switch songs mid-verse and no one in the theatre would notice or care. She finishes out the song anyways, because she may be many things, but Rachel Berry is not a quitter._

_“I know, and you know, too. That a love like ours is terrible news.”_

_Five minutes later she’s rushing out of the theatre, just barely on schedule to make it to her shift at the bar. Just as she’s stepped beyond the front doors, someone behind her calls out her name. She turns to see the man from the theatre who had been sitting next to the casting director._

_“What can I do for you?” Rachel asks, forcing herself to sound polite._

_“You’re very talented,” he replies with an easy smile._

_“Obviously not talented enough,” Rachel says wryly._

_“Look, Broadway’s not really my thing,” he explains. “I’m actually based out of LA, I’m a film producer.”_

_“Okay,” Rachel replies blankly._

_“I’m sorry you didn’t get this part,” he says, cocking his head to the side. “But I’d be really interested in working with you sometime. Do you have another copy of your resume with you?”_

_“Of course I do.” She digs through her bag until her fingers close around a laminated folder. “I don’t want them to wrinkle,” she adds after catching him looking on with a confused smile._

_“Of course.”_

_She pulls one free from the binding and passes it to him._

_“Thank you. My name is Kevin Rubel by the way. I’ll be in touch Miss Berry.”_

_And with that he turns and walks back into the theatre leaving Rachel standing at the door, wondering if she had just inadvertently given some stalker or pimp all her contact information. Even if he was being genuine, for all she knows the guy could produce pornography or something of that nature. A glance at her cell phone tells her that she’s officially late for work._

 

“Hey, Rach.”

Rachel glances up from her a few rows back from the stage in time to catch one of her castmates, Erin, slumping into the seat to her right.

“Oh hi, Erin,” she says with a grin. 

When Rachel had signed on to do the show she’d been surprised to see that Erin was also involved. She’d been a year behind Rachel at NYADA, but the school was so small that everyone wound up knowing each other before long. They sit in companionable silence for a while, watching Brittany put the chorus members through the paces of some changes to their choreography. 

“She’s kind of incredible huh?” Erin says, nodding in Brittany’s direction. 

Rachel and Brittany haven’t spoken since the whole Quinn debacle, but she grudgingly agrees with a nod of her head.

Erin nudges at Rachel’s arm with her elbow and says, “She would have fit right in at NYADA.” 

“Perhaps,” Rachel concedes.

“So, you guys are still fighting then?”

“We’re not – “ Rachel immediately protests, before cutting herself off at the pointed look Erin shoots her way. “Yes. We are.”

“Is it about that blonde chick that came to the show last night?”

It takes every ounce of Rachel’s self-control to keep from reacting. “I’m not sure who you mean.”

Erin shrugs and settles deeper into her seat, kicking her feet up to rest on the row of chairs in front of them. 

“You know I had the biggest crush on you when we were at school together. I was devastated when you transferred,” Erin says with a laugh.

Rachel chuckles a little and says, “Oh really?”

“I was very loyal,” Erin adds. “I mean when those rumors spread that you left because you slept with one of the dance teachers I totally defended your honor.”

Rachel chokes on nothing. Hard.

“Uh – “ she says, clearing her throat. “Sorry to disappoint, but the rumors were – not exactly rumors.”

Erin sits forward in her seat, spinning to fix Rachel with a mildly scandalized grin. “Well, now I just like you more.”

Rachel glares at her jokingly and smacks her on the arm.

“When I heard you were joining the cast I thought – “ Erin rolls her eyes. “I thought that I’d finally get my chance, but then when I figured out that you were already attached – “

“I’m not,” Rachel interjects quietly with a furrowed brow.

Erin cocks an eyebrow. “Rachel, you may not be in a relationship, but you’re definitely attached,” she says, shuffling to her feet. She reaches down and squeezes Rachel's knee lightly before heading off.

 

Rachel watches the actors run through their number four more times before Brittany dismisses them with a easy grin. A moment later she turns out into the audience and sticks her hand up at Rachel in greeting.

“Can you come up here?” she calls. “We gotta go over that final dance number, I changed it a little.”

Rachel sighs and slowly makes her way up onto the stage, approaching Brittany with her arms crossed firmly over her chest.

Brittany steps forward and places a sure hand on Rachel’s hip, holding out the other for Rachel to take. 

“I’m gonna be Josh right now okay? I’ll walk you through it.”

Rachel knows she won’t be able to learn a thing if she stays this tense so she tries to force herself to relax as she slips a hand up Brittany’s shoulder.

Brittany starts walking her backwards, twirling them every few steps.

“I’m really sorry about last night,” she says softly, dropping Rachel into a low dip.

“Brittany, I can’t do this with you right now,” Rachel forces out through clenched teeth.

“I know that I messed up, but you’re gonna have to forgive me some time.”

Rachel spins out of Brittany’s arms and then back in, and before she can stop herself she’s asking, “Did she – did she know I was in the show?”

“No,” Brittany says, tugging Rachel firmly against her body and walking her through another few counts.

Rachel shakes her head. “I can’t believe that you did that to me. To her.”

Brittany slows their pace until they’re just swaying together, no real rhythm involved. “I just thought that – “

“God, she even brought a date,” Rachel suddenly realizes, her teeth clamping down on the inside of her cheek.

“They’re not together,” Brittany says, squeezing Rachel’s hand. “Jane’s her receptionist.”

Something within her lightens just a little at that bit of knowledge, but a second later she shakes her head.

“I don’t know why I – “ she says, looking down at her feet. “It doesn’t even matter.”

“There’s a reason you’re both still single after all this time, you know that right?”

Rachel drops Brittany’s hand before stepping out of her grasp completely. “Stop this,” she says, unable to keep the pleading tone out of her voice. She takes off across the stage, just slipping into the wings when she hears Brittany call out after her.

“She’s not gonna wait forever, Rachel.”

 

_“…So anyways, Cuddy is absolutely ripping this doctor to shreds on cross. It was amazing. I have never seen someone actually reduced to stuttering on the stand like that. He was…”_

_When Quinn actually takes the time to talk to Rachel about the cases she’s working on, it’s immediately apparent why it is that she loves being a lawyer so much. Sometimes Quinn tells her about witnesses and experts being torn apart on the stand with this hungry gleam in her eye that Rachel recognizes all too well. It’s in those moments, with Quinn so obviously enjoying other people’s failures, that Rachel comes the closest to really hating her._

_“I mean it was so painfully obvious that this guy had been super negligent, the standard of care was so far below – “_

_“Quinn,” Rachel interrupts._

_Quinn blinks and looks up at her. “What’s up?”_

_Rachel mostly just wants her to stop talking, because she’d worked the closing shift at the bar last night and had woken up with a migraine. But then a question she never really intended to ask slips out._

_“Do you really want to be with me?” she asks abruptly._

_Quinn’s face splits into a grin. “Well I mean you do have spectacularly bad bed head right now, but yeah, I think I’ll keep you around for the time being.”_

_“Quinn, I’m serious,” Rachel says quietly._

_“We’ve been together for years, Rachel.” Quinn furrows her brow. “Why are you asking me this now?”_

_“Just answer me okay?” Rachel presses, losing patience fast._

_Quinn's gaze widens in confusion. “Where is this coming from?”_

_“Quinn!” Rachel finally cries in exasperation. “Just answer the fucking question!”_

_“Of course I want to be with you, stupid!” Quinn snaps, her posture immediately going tense. “I can’t believe you’d even ask me that,” she adds quietly a moment later, her voice wavering just the tiniest bit._

_Rachel softens. “Quinn.”_

_“What’s happening?” she asks. “What are you doing?”_

_Rachel studies her for a moment before saying, “I know I wasn’t part of your plan.”_

_“Rach – “_

_“No, it’s not a bad thing,” Rachel smiles tightly. “I didn’t exactly see you coming either. I just have to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me. I won’t be upset okay? Just do me a favour, and answer me this.”_

_“Okay,” Quinn eyes her warily, the sudden dampness in her eyes not escaping Rachel’s notice._

_“When you think about your plans now, where you want to be in five years. Partner at your firm, or – or starting a new one entirely, buying a condo, whatever it is. Am I – am I there Quinn? Am I part of your plans?”_

_Quinn stares at her for a long, heavy moment. “Always,” she says hoarsely._

_Quinn had been wrong all those years ago when she’d told Rachel that she would nail any part where she’d have to play a crying girl. Rachel has seen what it looks like when Quinn is pretending to cry, and it's nowhere near as devastating to watch as this is. Her face is pulled into such a tightly controlled expression that if it weren’t for the pain swimming in her eyes and the tears tracking down her cheeks it wouldn’t even be immediately clear that she’s upset. Every few seconds she brushes at her face with trembling fingertips, far too slender and gentle to stem the flow of moisture from her eyes._

_It’s stupid, but it makes Rachel angry all of a sudden. Why can’t Quinn just ask for a tissue? Or use her sleeve?_

_“You don’t believe me, do you?” Quinn asks quietly._

_Whatever tenuous strength has been holding Rachel together for this conversation gives way and a second later there are hot tears spilling past her eyelids._

_“No,” she chokes out. “I don’t.”_

_Two hours later Rachel is sitting in the Starbucks at the end of her street. Quinn thinks that she has a shift at the bar, but she doesn’t. The lie had slipped out so easily when it became clear that the only way she could extricate herself from the apartment was to fabricate some other obligation. Their conversation runs through her mind over and over again for an hour because she’s finally interrupted by her phone ringing._

_“Hello?”_

_“Hi, is this Rachel Berry?” a vaguely familiar voice asks._

_“Yes,” she replies._

_“Miss Berry, it’s Kevin Rubel here, we met the other day at your audition.”_

_“Oh, hi,” she says blankly. “How are you?”_

_“I’m quite well thank you. Is it possible for us to meet up sometime today?”_

_“I suppose so,” she replies warily._

_“I have an offer I would love to make you.”_

 

Rachel used to have fantasies about being recognized in Starbucks. In her vision she would always be extremely busy when an adoring fan would approach her with a napkin and a pen and beg her for an autograph. She would be late to rehearsals, or in the middle of an interview with someone from _The New Yorker_ , but of course she would take the time to sign the napkin, and would be sure to thank them profusely for their support. 

She’s been sitting in a Starbucks on Greenwich for forty-five minutes, and despite the fact that she has an Emmy under her belt and an off-Broadway show that’s selling out nightly, not one person has approached her.

“Eve?” a barista calls out suddenly, placing what looks like a venti up on the small wooden counter for pick up. 

A few seconds later there are two women approaching the cup, awkwardly eyeing one another up.

“You an Eve too?” The younger of the two asks.

The older Eve smiles and says, “So it would seem.”

The barista shows up then, noticing their dilemma, and examines the cup more thoroughly. “It’s a venti latte.”

Both Eves reach for it at the same time, before pulling back and laughing.

“Quite a coincidence,” the older Eve says.

The barista peers at the cup once more before adding, “Which one of you has a last name that starts with a ‘K’?”

“Kandrack,” the older Eve responds, accepting the cup when the other Eve shakes her head.

The name is so familiar that it causes an acute feeling of déjà vu to flare up in Rachel’s chest, so potent that it knocks her off balance for a moment. She knows the name Eve Kandrack. If only she could remember why.

It takes her another five minutes of wracking her brain before something clicks. The ghost of a conversation drifts through her mind until she picks out a familiar voice, low and sweet murmuring, _‘They aren’t dissimilar. Weirdly enough her first name is Eve’_.

Of all the Starbucks in the world.

She’s on her feet before she even knows what she’s doing.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Rachel says softly, smiling nervously when Dr. Kandrack lifts her head. “You’re name is Eve Kandrack, right?”

Eve Kandrack cocks her head and says, “Yes, it is.”

“You’re a therapist?” Rachel presses.

She doesn’t answer, but from the look on her face, Rachel already knows that this is the right Dr. Kandrack.

“Do you have a patient named Quinn Fabray?”

Dr. Kandrack mouth drops open just slightly before she primly folds her hands in her lap and says, “I’m really not at liberty to discuss any patients I may or may not have.”

Rachel takes that as a yes and stutters, “Does she – has she ever mentioned a girl named – I mean her roommate, when she was in law school? Has she ever mentioned her to you?”

People are starting to stare now.

“I really can’t discuss – “

“You’re right,” Rachel cuts her off with a shake of her head, suddenly completely mortified that she’s trying to grill Quinn’s _therapist_ in the middle of a crowded coffee shop. “I’m sorry that was incredibly inappropriate of me. Forgive me, I’ll – I’ll leave you to it. Enjoy your coffee.” 

She heads straight for the door after that, even though her soy chai tea latte is only half empty. When the fall air hits her full in the face she sucks it in like she's starved for it, swaying a little as her head spins freely. There’s an awful feeling throbbing in her chest and some part of her that was fraying already starts to just unravel completely and – 

“Rachel?”

She turns towards her name without a thought. Dr. Kandrack is standing about five feet away from her, watching her with an unreadable expression.

“You caught me,” Rachel says wryly, running a nervous hand through her hair.

Dr. Kandrack steps in closer. “You’re in New York.”

Rachel nods. “For a few months now.”

There’s an uneasy quiet between them for what feels like forever before Dr. Kandrack sighs and shakes her head.

“You’re going to try and get her back, aren’t you?” she asks.

After a quick, shaky inhale Rachel nods. At this point, it’s probably time to acknowledge that she could have taken time off in any city in the world, but she wound up here. That’s always meant something and maybe it’s time to stop pretending that it doesn’t.

“Is there anything I can say to dissuade you?” Dr. Kandrack says softly, in a kinder tone than Rachel thinks she deserves.

“Probably not.” Rachel shakes her head, laughing because it’s the only alternative to sobbing that she can come up with. “I love her,” she adds, with a shrug.

Dr. Kandrack stares at her for a long moment, her face shifting like she’s struggling with whatever it is she’s going to say next. Finally she just shakes her head and says, “She won’t make it easy on you.”

“I know,” Rachel mumbles, rubbing absently at her right eye, trying to hide the way her hands won’t stop shaking.

“She’ll be cruel.” 

“I can take it.”

Dr. Kandrack fishes around in her purse for a second, before pulling out a small white card and handing it to Rachel.

“If you ever want to talk,” she says.

“Wouldn’t that be a conflict of interest?” Rachel asks. “Seeing us both?”

Dr. Kandrack sighs and says, “Quinn is no longer my patient. Hasn’t been in about five years actually.”

With a last nod in Rachel’s direction, Dr. Kandrack ducks back into Starbucks and Rachel takes off walking down the street at brisk pace. She has no idea where she’s going, but she knows she can’t shake that sharp, painful feeling in her chest by standing still.

Two blocks later her phone vibrates in her pocket and she fishes it out, answering without checking the display.

“Hello?” She knows she sounds breathless and possibly completely hysterical, but it’s alright, because Brittany’s on the other end of the phone asking her if she’s okay.

“I’m fine,” Rachel replies, her feet stuttering to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk. “Well actually no, I’m not – I need a favor and I think you owe me.”

“Sure,” Brittany replies instantly. “Anything.”

 

_The sight of Quinn curled up on the floor of their apartment, hair tangled, clad in NYU sweats and a t-shirt she stole from Finn in high school, probably shouldn’t have been unfamiliar to Rachel, but it was. When she walks in the door she does a double take, not only at the fact that Quinn is curled on the hardwood, reading Vanity Fair, but that she’s even home at all._

_“Hey,” Rachel calls out from the entryway, dropping her keys and purse. “What are you doing here?”_

_Quinn arches her neck back to look up at her. “Hey back. I cut out of work early. I figured since you don’t work tonight we could spend some time together.”_

_Rachel drops down on the floor next to her, and Quinn immediately nuzzles her face against Rachel’s shoulder._

_“That sounds nice,” Rachel mumbles, shifting around until Quinn’s head is pillowed on her arm._

_“I thought so,” Quinn grins before leaning in and pecking Rachel lightly on the lips._

_When she pulls back and their eyes meet her expression abruptly turns serious and she says, “I know things have been weird between us lately. But work should be a lot less busy now that Cuddy’s case got settled.”_

_There’s that familiar tightening in her chest, the one that always seems to accompany thinking about the state of their relationship these days. Rachel tries hard to ignore it as she nods and starts to curl her fingers through the edges of Quinn’s hair._

_“I love you,” she blurts out a moment later when the tightness becomes a little too painful to bear._

_“I love you too,” Quinn murmurs in kind, rolling over until she’s hovering over Rachel, her hips resting snugly between Rachel’s legs. A moment later her fingers find and tangle with Rachel’s own, before she presses both their hands against the floor above Rachel’s head._

_Quinn’s gaze darkens as she asks, “You wanna feel how much?”_

_Quinn’s room has been pretty much empty for years. Some of the clothes they wear less wind up tucked into the closet, but other than the occasional guest from out of town the room doesn’t see much use._

_At five thirty in the morning, just before the sun is set to rise Rachel walks into Quinn’s room and pulls two suitcases, full to the brimming, from the closet. She silently moves them to the front door before tiptoeing back to her room where Quinn is curled up, mercifully still asleep. For a few minutes she allows the sight of Quinn’s evenly rising chest to steady her, before turning away and slipping quietly through the apartment._

_The date on their single day calendar stares her down when she enters the kitchen. Without reading it she tears off today’s page and sets it face down on the counter. She rummages through their drawers until she finds a pen._

_After a moment’s deliberation she carefully scrawls ‘I love you’ across the back of the page, and waits for something more to come to her. It seems impossible to her that there doesn’t exist more than one way to tell someone that you love them. In her mind she trips over clumsy descriptions of the way Quinn makes her feel, they way the sound of Quinn laughing will never leave her, the way Quinn moves against her when she’s sleeping._

_In the end she leaves it at ‘I love you’, because it’s the only thing that feels true._

_She turns the page over and reads the day’s fact, quietly repeating it to herself out loud._

_“The human epidermis completely renews itself every 35 days.”_

 

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” Rachel chants to herself over and over again as she clutches Brittany’s hips from behind. “Oh god.”

“Calm down,” Brittany says soothingly. “Take a few deep breaths and then I’m going to knock okay?”

“Oh god,” Rachel whispers, her fingers digging into her skin. She manages to pull a few shaky breaths into her lungs before finally saying, “Okay. I think I’m ready.” 

“Okay.” Brittany replies, patting gently at the hand digging into her waist. “Here we go.” 

She raises a fist and knocks. A few moments later Rachel hears the unmistakable patter of footsteps approaching the door. There’s a long pause, and it was in anticipation of this moment that Rachel had asked Brittany to escort her to Quinn’s apartment. There was no way she would open the door if she saw Rachel’s face through the peephole.

The door swings open. “Brittany, what –“

Before Quinn can say anything more Rachel hears Brittany mumble an apology before she steps aside, grabs Rachel by the waist and pushes her through the doorway. She then grips the doorknob and pulls the door shut with both Rachel and Quinn on the inside of it.

Quinn takes one look at her and then frantically reaches for the door. Brittany must have stuck around after she forced Rachel in, because Quinn can’t seem to get the knob to turn. She attempts to twist it open a few more times before letting out a frustrated growl and turning on her heel to march away into the apartment.

For a moment Rachel stands in the entryway at a complete loss. Quinn’s gone, maybe even hiding and this is where Rachel’s plan ends. Her goal was just to get in and then – 

Well she hadn’t thought past that point.

Her heart thunders in her ears as she slowly moves through the apartment, trying and failing to keep her eyes on the ground. It seems too personal somehow, to get to see the paintings on Quinn’s walls, the colors of her living room. This isn’t something she should be privy to. But there’s no turning back when a moment later her eyes find Quinn’s back, hunched over the dark marble countertop of the kitchen. Rachel sucks in a wavering breath and approaches.

“Quinn,” she says softly.

Quinn whirls around and the look she gives Rachel cuts whatever hope she showed up here with down to size. In this moment Quinn is every bit the girl that abused Rachel for the better part of high school and _nothing_ at all like the girl she fell in love with.

“Why are you here?” Quinn practically growls.

“I think we should talk,” manages to say weakly.

“I don’t see how you and I could possibly have anything to say to each other now,” Quinn sneers.

“I know you don’t mean that.”

Quinn’s laugh is so bitter and joyless that it makes Rachel’s skin crawl. “No, that's where you're really wrong, isn't it? You don’t know anything, Rachel.”

Rachel swallows hard, straightens her shoulder and says, “Even if you have nothing to say to me, I have plenty to say to you.”

Quinn glares at her for a moment before spinning and opening a drawer. She turns back and tosses a notepad and a pen down on the island between them.

“Leave it in a note,” she says coldly. “I’m done with this. Show yourself out.”

Quinn starts to walk past her and she should probably take this as her cue to give up, but for some reason there’s only one thing on her mind. In the drawer that Quinn left open Rachel can see a small stack of papers that she immediately recognizes to be a day by day calendar. It’s not the same as the one they had all those years ago, but in that moment all she can think about is how her entire epidermis replaces itself every 35 days.

When she left, she’d found that knowledge immeasurably comforting. Despite how old and used up and _marked_ she felt by her time with Quinn, in 35 days there would be a part of her that would be completely and utterly new.

But in this moment she’s struck by the realization that in the time they’ve been apart her epidermis has replaced itself more than 52 times.

As she stands in Quinn’s kitchen, there isn’t a single inch of their skin that’s ever even touched.

Before she can really consider what she’s doing she reaches out and catches Quinn’s wrist as she passes. Quinn’s gaze snaps to Rachel face and she stares expectantly for a moment, before scoffing and trying to pull away.

The first time they kissed was in the middle of their kitchen, and Rachel’s always had a thing for coming full circle.

One little tug at Quinn’s wrist shifts her forwards enough that Rachel’s other hand can catch her cheek before she leans in and captures Quinn’s lips with unerring precision. 

Rachel kisses her with the kind of fever that builds up after five years of longing, loneliness and desire.

She kisses her with everything she has left.


	3. Chapter 3

Time heals all wounds.

Or at least, that’s what people want to believe. What Quinn wants to believe.

She’s been committed to the idea as far back as she can remember. As a kid she had to believe that someday the name ‘Lucy’ wouldn’t make her skin crawl, as a teen she had to believe that one day she could look back on giving Beth up without pain or regret, and for the past five years she’s desperately clung to the belief that one day Rachel wouldn’t be anything more than a distant memory.

She’s _had_ to, because the idea that time doesn’t really heal a thing at all is just well – unthinkable.

But then Rachel’s shaking hand meets her cheek, and she knows that the wound she’s been carrying ever since the day she found that note never really scarred over. There’s just no way because it’s throbbing in time to the quickening beat of her heart. Rachel’s eyes are pleading and getting closer and then there’s warm, static pressure against the indifferent curve of her lips.

She feels the rush of air against her mouth when Rachel murmurs, “Quinn, please.”

It’s been so long since she’s heard her name said that way; folded away in someone’s voice with such obvious need. The effect it has on her isn’t something she can really control. She’s not even sure she’d want to if she could, and from the way Rachel hisses and moans at the same time when Quinn’s teeth sink into her lower lip, she’s pretty sure the feeling is mutual.

The hand around her wrist grips tighter, and then Rachel’s pulling Quinn’s arm around her, twisting it up and forcing their bodies closer together.

Rachel mumbles her name straight into her mouth and Quinn pushes hard against her body, relishing the pained groan that falls from Rachel’s mouth when her back connects with the edge of the marble countertop. A moment later Quinn’s wrist slips free and Rachel’s hands are brushing over her hair, finding and tearing at the pins holding it in place. She’s already pulling at it when it falls, tugging sharply as she dips her tongue past the seam of Quinn’s lips.

Quinn’s spent five years wondering what it would feel like to have Rachel back, but the thoughts that used to keep her up at night just don’t compare to the feel of Rachel’s body and the uneven way she’s breathing right up against her.

Quinn’s hand catches Rachel around the waist and then, by some unspoken agreement, they slide to the floor; Rachel on her back on the hardwood and Quinn between her legs, doing her level best to keep their lips attached the whole way.

As soon as Quinn’s hips sink between Rachel’s thighs, Rachel starts pulling at the buttons of her shirt. Her fingers catch and fumble on every one, but before long she’s pushing the fabric clear off of Quinn’s shoulders.

There’s a tremulous uncertainty building in Quinn’s chest, but her hands are moving quicker than that, pulling Rachel’s oversized sweater over her head. Her hair goes flying with it, spilling out over the floor, just a shade darker than the wood. Quinn’s eyes catch on the contrast and all of a sudden all of the frenzied need drains right out of her.

Rachel is panting beneath her, chest rising and falling, covered only by the thin cotton of her bra. Quinn leans forward and presses a few long, slow kisses down the length of Rachel’s neck, her eyes slipping shut at the sound of Rachel’s breath hitching.

The urge to just _look_ at her is overwhelming, so she pulls back.

She’s thinner than Quinn remembers her ever being. The last memory she has of Rachel is of soft curves – slender, but fuller somehow. Now Quinn’s eyes dart from the cut of her hipbones to the way her ribs press against her skin on every inhale. She wonders, just for a moment, if it was the kind of gradual change that she might not have noticed if things had been different. She wonders if it was the kind of slow, incremental difference that they’d only notice looking at old pictures.

It would have been _wonderful_ to watch Rachel grow like that.

But seeing it now sends a rush of pain thrumming through Quinn’s veins, sharp and sudden. Rachel’s hand grasps at the back of her neck and pulls her down into another all-consuming kiss and just as suddenly the pain is replaced with the same desperate arousal that’s been driving her since Rachel first kissed her. 

Quinn’s hand slips down between them, softly skimming Rachel’s belly, before finding and pulling at the button of her jeans. Rachel’s stomach contracts as a little groan rips from her throat. 

Quinn eases the zipper down with trembling fingers and their eyes meet as she slips her hand down past the waistband of Rachel’s underwear. 

She’s _so_ wet, so obviously turned on, but she’s staring up at Quinn with the most vulnerably confused expression she’s ever seen.

“Baby?”

Quinn’s eyes slam shut, preemptively holding back the tears stinging at her eyes. She tells herself internally that it’s just a word, just a little endearment. Something Rachel used to say all the time. 

“Quinn,” Rachel says breathlessly, a soft hand cupping her cheek. “Are you okay?”

She wants to scream it, but it comes out a whisper.

“No.”

She hasn’t been okay in five years, and right now, lying on her kitchen floor with her fingers still pressing against Rachel in the most intimate of ways – 

She’s never felt further from okay in her life.

 

_Rachel’s half of the bed is already cold by the time Quinn wakes. She rolls over and reaches out instinctively, eyes peeking open reluctantly when her hand connects with sheets that no longer hold the warmth of Rachel’s body. She idly runs her fingers over the fabric, wondering just how long it’s been since Rachel got up._

_The clock by their bed reads 7AM, and while it’s kind of unusual for Rachel to be already up and about on a Saturday, it’s far from unheard of. Quinn rolls out of bed and sleepily stumbles to the kitchen in search of her, only to find that she’s nowhere to be seen._

_“Rach?” she calls out, to no reply. She heads for the fridge, eyes automatically seeking out their calendar, checking for Rachel’s small, neat handwriting. She always writes down her shifts at work in the bottom right corner of the page._

_Today’s date has already been torn off and Quinn frowns, until her eyes catch on the slip of paper leaning against the coffee machine. A slow grin creeps up on her face as she unfolds it and reads the simple message. Rachel is kind of a nerd sometimes, but after all the fighting and the weirdness between them, the small affirmation makes Quinn’s heart swell._

_There was a time when she’d have rather set herself on fire than have Rachel be in love with her, but now it’s something she’s grown to depend on._

_She refolds the note along its creases and tucks it into the pocket of her hoodie before hitting the button to start the coffee machine and heading for the fridge._

_Five minutes later, when she’s settled at the table with her breakfast she sends a text to Rachel, asking her when she’ll be home._

_Rachel isn’t home for dinner. It’s not exactly cause for immediate alarm, but the fact that she hasn’t responded to any of Quinn’s calls or texts kind of is. Alarming enough that Quinn calls Santana to see if she’s heard from her._

_“Nope,” Santana says simply. “What, you haven’t?”_

_“No,” Quinn replies, chewing at her lip nervously. “I’m sure it’s fine, she probably just left her phone somewhere or something.”_

_“Probably,” Santana agrees. There’s shuffling over the line and then Quinn makes out Brittany’s voice in the background before Santana sighs and says, “Brittany wants me to tell you that she misses you.”_

_Quinn laughs. “Tell her I say hi, and that I miss her too,” she says, and then in a quieter voice adds, “Listen I wouldn’t normally ask, but do you think you could call her?”_

_Quinn doesn’t want to say it, but it wouldn’t be the first time in the past few months that Rachel has simply ignored her calls for one reason or another._

_“Sure, whatever,” Santana replies nonchalantly. “I’ll let you know if I hear from her.”_

_Her phone starts to ring when she’s getting ready for bed. Quinn scrambles out of the bathroom, toothbrush caught between her teeth and retrieves her phone from the dresser in Rachel’s room. Her heart sinks when the display reads ‘Santana’ and not ‘Rachel’._

_“Hi,” Quinn mumbles around her toothbrush, making her way back into the bathroom. “One sec.”_

_She spits, gargles a mouthful of water, and then replaces her toothbrush in its holder. It’s only then that she notices that Rachel’s toothbrush is missing, but before she can give it any thought Santana’s voice sounds in her ear._

_“Quinn,” she says quietly, in a tone of voice that Quinn just can’t place._

_“What?”_

_“I talked to Rachel,” she says hesitantly._

_“And?” Quinn asks, her stomach turning over._

_“Quinn, I – “ Santana sighs. “I don’t know how to tell you this.”_

_In the end she doesn’t have to, because when Quinn opens the cabinet behind the mirror to reach the face wash she’s been stealing from Rachel since they first moved in together, she finds it missing. All of Rachel’s things are missing. Her lip balm, her multivitamins, her cough drops._

_Quinn vaguely registers the sound of Santana’s voice in her ear as she rushes into Rachel’s room and tears open the drawers of her dresser. There are still clothes there, and if she didn’t know Rachel so well she might not have noticed, but all the clothes she wears most often are gone._

_In the end Santana doesn’t have to tell her because she figures it out on her own._

 

“Quinn?”

Her hands aren’t working. They were a moment ago. They certainly seemed capable enough when they were slipping Rachel’s zipper down and – 

Now the simple task of buttoning up her shirt is proving to be nearly impossible. Her fingers fumble inarticulately for a minute, maybe more. They’re shaking a little, she notices absently as she presses herself back further into the cabinet behind her.

“Quinn?”

Her chin dips south, nearly brushing against her bare chest. If she leans just right, the handle on the cupboard beneath her sink presses into her spine hard enough to be painful. It’s not ideal, but it’s something. It’s better than the absolute nothing the rest of her feels.

“Quinn, I – “ Rachel’s voice is shaky, and so, so close.

Quinn glances up at her finally, and wonders when she found the time to get dressed. 

“I need you to say something so I know that you’re oka – “ she trails off at that, obviously recognizing the fault in her language. “You’re just really scaring me right now so please, please say something.”

“You need to go.”

Quinn’s words sound foreign to her own ears, like they're part of a language she never knew she could speak.

“Quinn,”

She gets to her feet, pushing up off the ground with determined hands. “You can’t be here anymore, you need to leave.”

Rachel follows her up, her movements jerky and uncertain. Her hands lift between them in a gesture that looks torn between entreating and protective. It’s that, more than anything that cuts through the fog in Quinn’s mind. The mere idea that _Quinn_ might hurt _her_ is so preposterous that she almost laughs.

“Get out,” Quinn says, trying desperately to sound as detached as she wants to feel.

Rachel takes a step back, but shakes her head. “I know that this is a – god it’s a mess but, please don’t do this. Don’t make me go, I just want to – “

“Talk?” Quinn cuts in with a pointed look.

Rachel’s head jerks back as if the words were a physical blow. Her eyes slip shut tightly for a moment, forcing a single tear down her cheek.

“Please,” she says faintly. “Please let me try to explain.”

Quinn wraps her fingers around the edges of her shirt and tucks it around herself as best she can. “I meant it when I said that you and I have nothing left to say to each other.”

Rachel’s mouth opens again, but Quinn cuts her off.

“You need to go,” she says firmly. “You don’t belong here and you can’t just – “ Her voice starts to tremble. “You never should have come here. This is my home and you – “

“You’re right,” Rachel says then, sounding anguished. “I shouldn’t have done this. Any of this. I’m so sorry,” she mumbles. “I’m so sorry I keep – fucking things up for you. I – I’ll go.”

Quinn waits to feel relieved, but it just doesn’t come. Rachel backs away, watching her for a moment with tears glittering in her eyes, then turns to go.

“Rachel, wait.”

Her sleeves must have been rolled up when she came here, because when she turns all Quinn sees is the way that they hang over Rachel’s hands. The whole sweater dwarfs her, really, and the sight of Rachel, turning back to look at her with cautiously hopeful eyes is something Quinn knows she’ll never forget. She looks so small, and so young, and so much like that 16 year old girl who chased after the wrong person at the prom. 

“I – “ Quinn’s voice hitches, thick with unshed tears. “I need you to promise me you won’t come back here.”

Rachel’s face falls, but she nods. “Of course,” she says. “Promise.”

 

 

_“It’s good to see you, Quinn. It’s been a while.”_

_Quinn shrugs dismissively and carries on her in depth examination of the carpet’s pattern. It’s new._

_“More specifically,” Dr. Kandrack says, glancing down at the notebook in her lap. “It’s been over a year since your last appointment.”_

_“Has it.” Quinn says quietly, not bothering to give her statement the inflection of a question. She really couldn’t care less._

_“Fifteen months,” Dr. Kandrack adds unnecessarily. “Considering that prior to that you were in here twice a month, it was quite a drastic cutoff.”_

_Quinn tears her eyes from the floor to shoot Dr. Kandrack an openly dirty look. “I’m sorry, what a terrible inconvenience that must have been for you.”_

_Dr. Kandrack holds her hands up in a gesture of surrender. “This isn’t meant as an attack, Quinn. It’s just rare that we see a patient again after such an extended leave.”_

_Quinn mouth quirks in a bitter facsimile of smile. “You don’t say.”_

_“Let’s talk about – “_

_Dr. Kandrack is cut off by the chime of Quinn’s phone, ringing out from the depths of her jacket pocket. Quinn’s on her feet in a flash, stalking over to the coat rack in the corner of her room, practically ripping the pocket clear off in her haste to get to her phone._

_“I know that it’s been a while since you’ve been here, Quinn, but our policy on cellphone use during sessions hasn’t changed.”_

_Quinn ignores her completely and unlocks her phone’s display when she sees the text message alert. It’s from Santana._

__**9:46:** Talked to Rachel today. Still shooting in Vancouver.

_Quinn sucks in a quick, excruciating breath before typing back a response._

__**9:47:** Anything?

_Santana’s response comes through almost immediately._

__**9:47:** No. 

_Quinn tucks her phone back in her pocket and returns to her seat on the couch. Dr. Kandrack sighs and rubs a hand across her face._

_“Are you finished?” she asks._

_Quinn rolls her eyes, but gestures for Dr. Kandrack to go on._

_“I’d like to talk about your reasons for discontinuing our sessions last year. What exactly precipitated your decision to take a break from therapy?”_

_Quinn’s fingernails automatically dig into the fabric of the couch, her whole body tensing up. It takes her a few slow, measured breaths to be able to answer._

_“Therapy is for people who are unhappy right?” Quinn says finally. “I was no longer unhappy.”_

_“Your last few sessions did show a marked improvement in your mood,” Dr. Kandrack concedes._

_“Exactly. I didn’t need any more help.”_

_Dr. Kandrack smiles kindly. “We all need a little help from time to time, Quinn.”_

_Quinn’s gaze narrows, but she doesn’t comment._

_After a full minute of silence Dr. Kandrack says, “So let’s talk about the reasons you’re back. Considering what we’ve discussed so far would it be safe to assume that you’re here because you’re unhappy?”_

_Quinn’s laugh comes out sounding hollow. “You could say that.”_

_“Why are you unhappy?”_

_Quinn doesn’t answer, instead choosing to focus on slowing her breathing and steadying the angry shake of her hands._

_“Are you having trouble at work?”_

_Quinn doesn’t answer._

_“With your mother?”_

_Quinn doesn’t answer._

_“With Beth?” Dr. Kandrack asks. “Or Shelby, perhaps?”_

_Dr. Kandrack is watching her with an even expression. It’s the last thing Quinn sees before her eyes slip shut. For a moment everything seems to slow down; her racing heart, her erratic breathing, the tremble in her arms. She knows what’s coming next._

_“Quinn, is it Rachel?”_

_The sob that rips through her seems to surprise them both. Even as Quinn tries to stifle it, another ricochets through her chest, sharp and painful like gunfire. In some distant part of her mind she registers the press of an arm around her shoulders, and over the sound of her own unrestrained cries she hears someone repeating her name again and again and again._

_Ten minutes later, Quinn has fallen quiet; drained of what little energy she had to begin with. When the door behind her opens, she can’t even lift her head to watch Dr. Kandrack step back into the room. A moment later she appears in Quinn’s line of sight and presses a mug of absurdly cheerful pink tea into her hands._

_It burns her insides on the way down, tastes bitter, like absolutely every other part of her life._

 

Quinn shows up to work the next morning, sleepless, and an hour and a half early. Ever since Rachel walked out her door, her entire body has been positively vibrating with the kind of electric, nervous energy that only ever precedes a devastating crash. The only thing keeping her from tipping into the abyss is her twelfth cup of coffee in as many hours.

There’s not a single person on her floor yet, which is simultaneously comforting and irritating. She won’t need to make any pleasant small talk for a while now, but she could really use a latte and Jane won’t be in until eight. It’s stupid to be upset about it, but that doesn’t stop her from punching out a curt text to Jane containing only her coffee order.

She settles in at her desk just as the sky is starting to streak with early morning light. Her phone is blinking with messages already. Five new messages, she discovers after peering at the display. It’s unusual for this time of day, but there’s not much about her life that usual at all these days.

She eyes the stack of folders on her desk for a long moment before pulling the thickest one from the top. It’s her first new suit since the Richardson case settled out of court, just a week before it was set to go to trial. It’s also her first working directly under Cuddy.

The file before her paints a pretty gruesome story of a botched delivery that had left a baby with several developmental delays. She passes a hand over her face as she reads over the depositions. At the very core of her, she’s grateful for the opportunity the firm is entrusting her with. But today, reading over a case like this one really makes her long for the simplicity of corporate suits.

For a split second she even wishes she’d gone into family law. Custody battles, child protection suits, divorce. Families dissolving. People falling out of love.

Those, at least, she has some experience with. 

 

Jane shows up an hour later, coffee tray in hand.

“You’re early,” Quinn says, glancing up from her work.

“Your text woke me up,” Jane shrugs, setting two cups down on Quinn’s desk. “I know you didn’t ask for a smoothie, but – I’m guessing you didn’t have breakfast.”

“I’m failing to see how that would be any of your business,” Quinn snaps automatically.

Jane raises her eyebrows slightly, but doesn’t react otherwise. “Well. I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Jane, I’m – “

Jane just shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it.”

Quinn nods guiltily and watches Jane’s back retreat from the room. 

Jane’s only gone for about as long as it takes Quinn to finish her latte. When she steps up to her desk Quinn’s eyes flicker quickly to the untouched smoothie. 

“What is it?”

“You have sixteen messages,” Jane replies.

“Okay,” Quinn nods. “Well give me the ones that sound the most pressing.”

“Well,” Jane grimaces slightly. “It’s sort of hard to say.”

“What do you mean?”

Jane glances down at the scrap of paper in her hands. “They’re all from the same person.”

Quinn swallows hard and warily asks, “Who?”

“Rachel Berry.”

 

_”Hi you’ve reached Rachel Berry’s phone. Please leave me a detailed message including your name, number and the time you called and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you.”_

_“Rachel, please,” Quinn mutters brokenly into the phone. “Please just call me. I’ll do anything, okay? Just please call. Please.”_

_She disconnects the call and lets her phone slip from between her fingers onto the couch. It’s two in the afternoon on a Wednesday and she should really be at work. After leaving Kandrack’s office she’d headed to the nearest bar. The details get blurry after that, but she vaguely remembers waking up early enough, and just barely sober enough to call in sick before dipping into a bottle of red wine that Rachel had brought back from the bar – before._

_It’s only been a week, but it’s hard not to think of things as before, and after._

_Quinn’s arm drops lazily to the ground, skims the floor until her fingers brush against the cool glass bottle resting on the hardwood. She grasps at it and brings it to her lips, choking back a mouthful. Liquid the color of blood spills over onto her fingers when she pulls it away from her mouth._

_“Shit,” she mumbles, her voice sounding thin and worn. “Fuck.”_

_She sets the bottle back down on the floor and brings her hand to her mouth, licking the bitter taste off her palm, tracing the drips down her wrist. Her fingers are already starting to stain red, so she digs her teeth in and drags them across the skin until only the faintest hint of pink remains._

_Her phone vibrates and she grabs for it immediately._

_It’s just an email, from work._

_She scrolls through her text messages until she reaches Rachel’s name. In it she can read the last text message Rachel sent her, from just a few days before she left._

_**10:43 AM:** _ You know that I strive to be professional in my every endeavor, but I swear on all that is holy I am going to murder Kyle. He said he’d take my shift today so I could go to that audition I was telling you about, but he didn’t show up and they made me come in! __

_Quinn hadn’t answered that. She’d been in a meeting with one of the partners. Rachel had sent another an hour later._

_**11:50 AM:** _ Sorry, I know you don’t like it when I bother you with this stuff at work. It’s just frustrating. I’ll see you tonight right? __

_Quinn hadn’t answered that either._

_Her finger hovers over the call button for a moment, before her screen lights up with Santana’s picture. Quinn narrows her eyes at it before answering._

_“What?”_

_“Hi.” Santana’s voice sounds sympathetic and it immediately makes Quinn’s blood boil. “How are you?”_

_“Fine,” Quinn snaps. “What do you want?”_

_“I’m just checking in, Quinn,” Santana snaps back. “You don’t have to jump down my throat because you couldn’t keep a hold of your midget girlf –“ Santana’s voice drops out and Quinn hears the faint sounds of a struggle and a phone switching hands._

_Brittany’s voice sounds in her ear a moment later._

_“Hi, Quinn.”_

_“Hi.” Quinn’s nails dig into her couch and she fleetingly wishes she could reach right through the phone and kick the shit out of Santana._

_“Sorry about Santana. She’s – well you know. Santana,” Brittany says, trailing off into a little laugh._

_“What do you guys want?” Quinn repeats._

_Brittany sighs, but doesn’t comment on Quinn’s surly tone. “We just wanted to let you know that we talked to Rachel again today.”_

_“Oh,” Quinn breathes with a wince._

_“She’s still shooting in Vancouver. She told us she’ll be in LA by the end of the month to finish up.” Brittany pauses, then sighs. “She won’t talk about it Quinn. We’ve tried, but she won’t tell us anything that isn’t about work.”_

_Quinn swallows back a sob before biting out, “Well then forgive me, but I don’t see the point of this conversation.”_

_“Qui – “ Brittany’s voice cuts out as Quinn disconnects the call._

_She instantly scrolls through her contacts and hits call when she reaches Rachel’s name. It rings once before a tinny, automatic voice kicks in._

_“The number you are calling is no longer in service.”_

_“Fuck you,” Quinn mumbles before hurling her phone against the wall._

 

 _“Okay I know that I’m exactly the last person you want to hear from right now, but – “_

Rachel’s voice is thick and broken and the time stamp from the first message tells Quinn that leaving this must have been the first thing Rachel did after leaving her place.

_“I can’t – I can’t just leave things the way they are now. I am so, so sorry for what just happened and I need you to know that none of that was part of my plan. I just – I just want a chance to explain okay? I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. Please just – just call me. If you decide not to, I’ll understand. I will and - and I won’t call again, either. I promise. Please call. Any time. Well I have a show in two hours, but any other time that’s convenient for you – “_

The voicemail cuts out there and Quinn reluctantly saves it, steeling herself for the next message. Rachel’s voice comes through smoother and clearer.

_”I know that technically I’m calling you again, but I feel that I was unfairly cut off the first time – did you know that there’s no cell service in your elevator? – and although I’m sure you don’t care I – I have a lot more to say to you. God – “_

She hears a quick, shaky inhale.

_“I’ve really um – I’ve really missed you. Sorry, I know that’s incredibly inappropriate to say, given what just happened, but I’ve never really been known for my ability to hold my tongue. Sorry. That was a really terrible joke, but as I’m sure you can tell I’m spiraling a little bit here. I – I should stop trying huh? Yeah. I know that, but – I don’t think I can. I don’t – “_

The message cuts out there. Quinn saves it too. Rachel’s voice crackles to life again, sounding clearer, more determined.

_”I know, I know. You’d think we’re deep enough into the 21st century that cell service would just be a given, right? This is technically my third call, but – I’ve decided to rescind my promise. I get that – as things stand – I owe you. I owe you a great deal. But I think after everything – after all these years – you owe me too Quinn Fabray. I’m not going to just let you ignore me, and I’m going to continue to leave you messages until you pick up the phone and call me back. We need to talk. I think that if you could look past how angry you are right now you’d see that. Okay. Well. Bye for now.”_

Rachel leaves three more messages in the span of an hour: the first from a taxi on the way to the theatre, the second from the makeup chair during the last few touchups before the show begins and the third from just before Rachel stepped onstage. Quinn only knows that because after Rachel abruptly cuts out, Brittany’s voice takes over to cheerfully inform her that Rachel almost missed her cue.

Then after exactly an hour, another message.

_”Hi!”_

Rachel’s voice sounds breathless and excited, and Quinn’s mind conjures up an image of her backstage – flushed, eyes bright with the thrill of performing - without her permission. It snakes around her heart, and holds fast.

_“So, it’s intermission now, and I’m supposed to be changing into my next costume. Do you remember the one I wear in the second act? I hate that dress. So uncomfortable, but it really is beautiful, right? I’m just calling to say – well you already know what I’m calling to say. You know me well enough to know that I won’t give this up until you talk to me. I wish that I didn’t have to force you like this, but – I’m willing to wear you down.”_

There are six more messages waiting for her after that one, and Quinn honestly doesn’t know how much more she can take. It seems as though with every message Rachel’s voice gets steadier, surer, but Quinn feels more and more like crumbling. 

_“Hey, it’s me. I’m on my way home now. It’s just occurred to me that I’ve been calling your work number so I’m sure you won’t get any of these until tomorrow. I’m also sure you’ll be furious with me for clogging up your voicemail, but then again – how much angrier can you really get?”_

Rachel laughs softly and goes on.

_”I never got the chance to tell you how much it meant to me that you came to my show. I know that technically you got tricked into coming, but – you could have left, right? I’m in the Playbill, and the very first scene and – you could have left, but you didn’t. That means something, doesn’t it? I’m really tired, and probably reading too much into this, but – I hope I’m not. I hope that you can access whatever part of you kept you from leaving and call me back. Goodnight, Quinn. Sweet dreams.”_

Quinn puts down the receiver after that message. She’s reached her capacity. She’s had her fill of Rachel’s perfect enunciation and her familiar breathing and her soft, sleepy voice. It’s more than any one person should have to bear, especially after what Rachel has already put her through. 

The truth is, it wasn’t some dormant, forgiving part of Quinn that had kept her in her seat. It was Rachel. Just Rachel and the insane, breathless awe that came with watching someone Quinn has spent the better part of her life loving and loathing in almost equal measure doing exactly the thing they were meant to do. 

Quinn reaches for the phone, and tiredly punches in the number that’s been flashing behind her eyelids for the past hour.

Rachel picks up after the first ring.

“Quinn,” she says quickly. “Hi. I was just about to call you.”

“Okay,” Quinn says quietly. “That’s enough.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but I – “

“I usually take lunch at noon,” Quinn cuts in. “I’ll meet you.”

“Oh.” Rachel’s voice is cautious, hopeful. “Okay that – that would be wonderful.”

“Where?”

 

_”Fabray!”_

_There’s only one person in the whole office that barges into her office without knocking like that, and she only lets him get away with it because he was the first person she ever met here. Alexander shared a cubicle with her for the entirety of her first year._

_She hated him at first, because he was the kind of person who refused to answer to ‘Alex’ and always corrected people who called him that._

_He’s been a good friend though, all these years._

_“What’s up, Alexander?”_

_“Aikens, Turner, Joel and I are cutting out early to grab drinks, you in?”_

_She still wonders sometimes why it is that some people here get called only by their last names, while others don’t._

_“I don’t know,” she says, glancing down at her phone for a message she knows isn’t coming. “I have to write up that statement of defense for the Howell case.”_

_Alexander sits on the corner of her desk and shoots her a look. “You could do that in your sleep. Just come with us, you look like you could use it.”_

_She’s gotten those kinds of comments on a nearly constant basis for the past few weeks. Everyone is so eager to tell her she looks tired, worn out. People hope that’s what she is because fatigue is easy to talk about. Whatever Quinn really is just – isn’t._

_“Okay,” Quinn says after a moment. “Why not?”_

_They’re the only two people left at the bar. Everyone they came with left, making excuses and pouring themselves into taxis. Aikens has a new baby at home, Turner and Joel have girlfriends. And then there’s Alexander, and Quinn, who don’t have anything to head home to._

_“I swear Cuddy wants to fuck you,” Alexander snorts into his beer. “He has to.”_

_“It’s not like that,” Quinn replies, nose crinkling. “He just wants to – mentor me.”_

_“I can think of a few guys around the office that would love to mentor you too, Quinn,” he teases._

_“Don’t be gross,” she says, shooting him a glare._

_He smiles at her then, and she notices the little dent that forms in his forehead when he does. She’s never thought of him as attractive before, never considered it, but he is. His hair is light brown and his eyes are stunningly blue and he’s different. He’s different from the last person she looked at like this, and that sprouts some unnamed feeling in her chest._

_Before she can question it she leans forward and presses her lips hard against his. His mouth is pliant beneath hers, for just a second, before a hand cups the back of her neck and he pushes back. After a minute of this, he pulls away._

_“Don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but – “ He looks sheepish. “I kind of thought you were gay.”_

_“What?” Quinn asks uneasily. She was always so careful. “Why?”_

_He shakes his head. “Just – that girl who used to call a lot when we shared the cubicle.”_

_Quinn shakes her head, biting down on the inside of her cheek._

_“But you know – “ His eyes light up a little. “I can’t say I’m upset about being proven wrong.”_

_She’s never felt so disconnected in her life or more like there’s a fundamental disjunction between her body and her brain. On the one hand she’s feeling the things she’s supposed to be feeling. His lips on her neck, the weight of his hips sinking against hers, the scratch of fingernails against her ribcage. Every one of her nerve endings is faithfully firing in response._

_But her brain is another matter entirely. As much as there’s something about it that feels undeniably good, she can’t let go. She can’t surrender to it, because her head is filled up with that inescapably familiar voice. Even as he reaches for her shirt, slipping it up over her head, she can hear the low drop in Rachel’s voice; rough and scratchy and pleading right up against her ear._

_It’s not fair. It’s not fair that in every big, important way Rachel is gone, but Quinn still feels her everywhere, all the time._

_“Quinn,” Alexander’s voice is distant, concerned. “Are you okay?”_

_“What?”_

_“You’re crying,” He says, backing off a little. “What’s wrong?”_

_“I don’t – I don’t know – “ she admits tearfully._

_Alexander shifts until he’s sitting, and tugs Quinn up into his arms. He whispers little words of comfort in her ear as she shakes against him._

_It takes her a long time to quiet, and when she does he pulls back the covers for her, and tucks her in. He presses a soft kiss to her forehead and goes._

_He stops showing up at her office unannounced after that; stops inviting her for drinks and joking with her over legal briefs._

_She can’t bring herself to blame him._

 

“Thank you for coming.”

When Rachel had suggested Quinn meet her at her apartment, she hadn’t thought much of it at the time. She figured that no matter where they were this was a conversation she didn’t want to have; at least at Rachel’s they’d have some privacy. As Rachel leads her through the apartment, she starts to regret agreeing to this venue. She’s not sure ‘home-court advantage’ applies to situations like this, but it’s hard not to feel that way right now.

When they hit the kitchen Rachel slows to halt.

“Do you want to sit?” Her expression is neutral, but there’s a quiver in her voice that gives her away completely. 

Quinn sets her shoulders and says, “No, I don’t plan on staying long.”

Rachel looks at her, confidence obviously wavering, for a few moments before taking a deep breath. “I’ve had this conversation with you in my head a thousand times,” she says quietly. “But I don’t really know where to start.”

Quinn doesn’t say anything. It’s not her job to help Rachel along.

“I’m sorry for what happened to us,” Rachel says. “For the hand that I had in it.”

“Don’t,” Quinn shakes her head, vibrating with anger. “Don’t apologize. I don’t need it, and I don’t want it. If that’s what you brought me here to do then save it and I’ll go.”

“Quinn, don’t do that,” Rachel says desperately. “This is _hard_ for me.”

“Yeah,” Quinn replies flatly. “I’m sure it is, Rachel.”

Rachel takes a few deep breaths before her dark, sincere eyes meet Quinn’s.

“My whole life – as far back as I can remember – I’ve dreamt of being on Broadway,” Rachel begins. “I thought that, because I was talented and because I wanted it so badly, that it would happen for me. I thought I would come here and pay my dues at NYADA, and after a few suitably lean years I’d get my big break and that would be that. It – it didn’t turn out that way.”

“So what?” Quinn says. “Maybe you weren’t as big a star as you thought you should be, but you were working, you were auditioning – “

Rachel lets out a bitter laugh. “I was an understudy, I was in the chorus, and I was getting shot down by every casting director in the city on a weekly basis. I was _nothing_ Quinn and you - ” She shakes her head and looks away. “Everything that I was, everything that I wanted was stripped away from me: my talent, my dreams, everything. All I had left was you and you were – you were busy and you were gone. A long time before I was.” 

Quinn’s anger is electric now, buzzing painfully under her skin. “Oh, so it was my fault right? You left because of me.”

“No,” Rachel says sadly. “I left for a chance. Because someone offered me a shot at the one thing I’ve wanted my entire life. Because when I weighed what I had with what I was offered I thought that – I thought that I wanted _it_ more. I thought that if I had to choose, I could have – lived without you, but I couldn’t live without my dream.”

Quinn heart sinks in her chest. “You didn’t have to choose,” she says, even though it feels like she’s giving away too much, now. “You could’ve had both, you could’ve gone and I would’ve waited. I could’ve come with you – “

“I didn’t want you to give up the life you had for me,” Rachel cuts in. “You loved what you were doing and I didn’t want you to have to make that choice.”

“So you made it for both of us,” Quinn accuses. “How is that fair?”

“I’m not saying that it was, but it was the best I could do at the time,” Rachel’s says, blinking away the wet glimmer in her eyes. “I didn’t know what else to do. I was _drowning_ and you couldn’t see it.”

“Then I must have been really easy to leave behind.”

Rachel’s expression twists in pity and Quinn knows just what she’s thinking: Russell, Puck, Beth, Shelby. Her history is littered with precedents and she hates that Rachel just _knows_ who she is and all the things that have ever happened to her. There’s no hiding here.

“You have,” Rachel has to pause there, voice full and heavy with emotion. “You have no idea how sorry I am that I ever made you feel like you’re not someone worth sticking around for. Leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Really?” Quinn asks, miserable and disbelieving. “Because from where I’m standing there is nothing hard about writing a fucking three word note.”

“I know,” Rachel replies tearfully. “I know it was cowardly and selfish, but I – I didn’t want my last memory of you to be of you _hating_ me.”

“Then you should have stayed away.”

Rachel’s shoulders slump and her whole face crumples. “Do you really mean that?”

Quinn looks at her, shaking under the weight of all of this pain and says, “Yeah, I do. Right now I do.”

 

_“So” Santana voice crackles through the receiver of Quinn’s phone. “How’s uh – everything?”_

_“It’s fine. I’m fine.” It’s the current line Quinn has been feeding them. She knows they don’t believe her, but at least they seem to appreciate the fact that it clearly means she has no interest in discussing how things are going._

_“Good,” Santana replies. “Brittany wants to talk to you.” She sounds relieved, and Quinn doesn’t really blame her. She’s not exactly a stunning conversationalist these days._

_“Santana, I can’t really – “_

_“Hi, Quinn!” Brittany says brightly._

_“Hi, Brittany,” Quinn mutters, glancing at the abandoned case files on her desk. Knowing Brittany, it will be a while before she’ll get back to them._

_“I had the best day today! The weather has been so great and the shoot today was awesome!” Quinn can hear Brittany take a deep breath before launching back into it. “The dance was super complicated, but I picked it up way quicker than anyone else, so I was just helping some people out with the steps and apparently the director was super impressed. Well Rachel said he looked impressed anyways. So that’s good right? And – “_

_“Brittany,” Quinn interjects urgently. “Did you just say Rachel?”_

_“Yeah! She’s in town for a few days – “_

_Brittany’s voice drops out and Quinn distinctly makes out Santana shouting in the background, before they switch places._

_“Hey, I told her not to mention it, but she forgot,” Santana says. “I didn’t think you’d want to know.”_

_“Why is she there? I thought she was still shooting in Vancouver,” Quinn says, swallowing thickly._

_“She has an audition here for another movie, then she’ll be back there by the end of the week.”_

_“Then LA again at the end of the month, right?” Quinn mumbles quietly. “Pretty busy life.”_

_“Yeah we’re – ” Santana says hesitantly. “We’re meeting her for dinner actually.”_

_Quinn tenses, her teeth clamping down on the inside of her cheek hard enough to hurt. “You’re having dinner with her. You’re – what the fuck are you doing Santana?”_

_“Quinn, come on – “_

_She slams the phone down, cutting off the end of Santana’s sentence. Her head drops into her hands as she tries, desperately, to calm her racing pulse._

_There’s a knock at her door, and her head snaps up in time to see Cuddy step into her office._

_“Hello, Quinn, do you have a moment?”_

_Quinn quickly straightens out the papers on her desk and gestures to the chair opposite her own. “Of course, please have a seat.”_

_Cuddy smiles at her and sits, after a moments pause he cocks his head slightly and says, “Is everything alright?”_

_Quinn’s skins prickles with fear. “Of course. Why do you ask?”_

_“Well,” Cuddy says. “I’ve noticed that things have seemed a bit off with you lately.”_

_Quinn swallows uneasily. “If there’s a problem with my work, I’d be happy to take another look at anything you aren’t satisfied with.”_

_Cuddy holds a hand up and shakes his head. “No, no. Your work has been impeccable, as usual. It’s more – “ he trails off as if he’s searching for the right words. “You just haven’t seemed yourself.”_

_“Well,” Quinn replies uncertainly. “I have been dealing with – something in my personal life, but I can assure you, I will keep it strictly separate from what I do here.”_

_“Quinn, there is only one constant in life.”_

_“Isn’t it two?” Quinn blurts unthinkingly, cheeks instantly heating up when her words register. “I mean,” she adds shakily. “Death and taxes, right? Isn’t that how the saying goes?”_

_Cuddy looks amused, if a little confused. “I was going to say work,” he says kindly. “Work is the only constant.”_

_“Oh,” Quinn mumbles, embarrassed._

_“Work is,” he says philosophically. “Dependable. We’re fortunate in that, there is always more to be done in our line of work. No matter how uncertain our personal lives may be, work will always be there to – take our mind off things.”_

_Quinn smiles slightly. “Unless there’s a recession, or downsizing, or the partners decide I’m not the right fit.”_

_Cuddy grins and says, “Oh I think we’ll be holding on to you for a good long while Quinn.”_

_“Thank you,” Quinn replies, ducking her head._

_“Of course,” Cuddy says, standing. “I should be going.”_

_“Thank you for – “ Quinn trails off. “Just thank you.”_

_Cuddy nods at her and then he’s gone._

_Her phone chimes a second later. The display tells her she’s missed three calls from Santana, and two text messages. She stares at it for a few long moments, before turning it off and sliding it into her bag. There’s a stack of files on her desk full of new cases to research. She reaches for the one on top of the pile, and settles in to work._

 

“Hey Quinn?”

Rachel’s voice still sounds stuffy and nasal, even though they both stopped crying nearly twenty minutes ago. They’re only separated by a few feet, and a coffee table, but her words sound distant to Quinn’s ears.

“Yeah?” she replies, tilting her head back to stare at Rachel’s ceiling.

“Do you remember that day we painted our apartment?” Rachel says, her voice hitching slightly. “We made such a mess of it, remember? We were both covered in yellow paint, from head to toe. I think there was more paint on our skin and clothes than on the walls.” 

“Rachel.” Quinn sits up straighter and shakes her head a little.

“And we couldn’t decide which one of us should get to shower first, so we just went in together, in all our clothes? I couldn’t stop laughing and you said that the paint turned the water the color of banana milkshakes?”

Quinn remembers that entire day with startling clarity. But more than the painting, or the shower, she remembers dragging Rachel off to get ice cream once they were mostly scrubbed clean. She remembers Rachel sitting in the ice cream store, hair still soaking wet, and how the sound of her laughing into her vegan milkshake made Quinn’s whole body feel light. It was almost three years before anything happened between them, but she can’t help but think she should have known then. Should have seen all of this coming. 

Quinn swallows hard and asks, “Why are you doing this?”

Rachel mouth quirks into a watery smile. “We were friends once. You were my best friend.”

Quinn shifts in her seat, draws her knees up into her chest. “I know okay? But what does that have to do with – “

Rachel cuts her off. “Do you regret it?”

“Regret what?”

Rachel let’s out a laugh that’s at least half sob. “Indulging my crush. Kissing me in the kitchen. All of it. I mean,” her eyes are brimming with tears, so close to spilling over. “We could have been friends and none of this – we would _still_ be friends and maybe you’d be able to look me in the eye right now. I’m asking if you regret it.”

There are tears in Quinn’s eyes to match Rachel’s now and she sniffs a little and shakes her head. “No,” she whispers hoarsely. “Of course I don’t.”

Rachel nods and brushes her sleeve under her eyes. “Do – do you think we could ever - ?”

“Rachel,” Quinn says, because there’s no real answer to that question.

“No sorry, I – “ Rachel sort of laughs. “I know that’s not fair to ask.”

Quinn rubs her hands over her face a few times before slowly getting to her feet. “I should get going. I think this might be the longest lunch break I’ve ever taken,” she jokes lamely.

Rachel gets to her feet too and nods. “Sure, I’ll um – I’ll walk you out.”

It’s only a handful of steps from the living room to the entryway, but Rachel faithfully follows her there, only slipping in front of her to grab Quinn’s jacket from a hook on the wall.

“Here,” she says, holding it out.

Quinn smiles politely and shrugs into it. “Well,” she says, shifting awkwardly before quietly admitting, “I – I don’t know what to say to you now.”

Rachel laughs. “The feeling is kind of mutual, but um – “ she shakes her head a little and takes a deep breath. “You should call Brittany and Santana. I know it’s not even slightly my place to suggest but, they really miss you.”

Quinn nods. “I know.”

Rachel reaches for the door and holds it open for her. “Maybe I’ll see you around?” she asks, her voice cautious.

Quinn steps out into the hall. “Maybe.”

She’s halfway down the hall when she hears Rachel call her name. When she turns back Rachel’s standing just outside her door, wringing her hands together.

“My show is – “ she calls out. “It’s in talks to go Broadway. It’s not a done deal yet, but it’s looking fairly likely at this point.”

Quinn smiles halfheartedly. “That’s great, Rachel. I’m happy for you.”

Rachel says just one thing more before Quinn turns, making quick work of the few yards between her and the elevator. The doors slide open almost immediately and she steps in and slumps to the side, head tilting against the mirrored wall. As the elevator drops slowly Rachel’s last words play over and over in her mind.

“Are you?”

 

_At first, she’s sure she must be mistaken. She tells herself it’s just a trick of the light._

_As much as she’d like to be able to leave it at that, she just can’t, so she carefully approaches the table near the bathrooms to get a better look. The picture’s small, and the bar is dimly lit, but painful recognition blooms in her chest after only a few moment’s examination. There’s no question_ who _it is, but she’d love to know_ why _Rachel Berry’s face is gracing the pages of US Weekly._

_“Excuse me,” Quinn says, stepping up to the table. The girl flipping through the magazine looks a little too young to be sitting in a pub on a Thursday afternoon. She glances up at Quinn blankly._

_“Could I – I know this is going to sound strange, but – how attached are you to that magazine?”_

_The girl shrugs. “Not very. Why, you want it?”_

_Quinn nods hurriedly, “Yeah. If you’re done with it, I mean.”_

_“Sure,” she says, flipping it closed and nudging it towards Quinn with a raised eyebrow. “All yours.”_

_“Thanks,” Quinn mumbles, gripping at the edges of the magazine hard enough to crinkle them._

_She turns away from the table and catches the eye of one of her coworkers, who mouths, “What’s up?” at her from across the room. Quinn waves him off, gesturing towards the bar with a tilt of her head._

_The stools lining the bar are all empty so Quinn takes one near the end. She lays the magazine out in front of her and tries to remember the last time she’s read one of these. She can’t recall. The index sends her to page 23, and when her fumbling fingers finally get there, she finds Rachel’s smiling face staring up at her._

_The write up is brief, just a quick review of the indie movie Rachel has a supporting role in, no more than twenty words or so. Every single one of them hits Quinn like a punch to the gut. Seeing Rachel’s name in print like that is just –_

_“Aren’t you a little old to be reading that shit?”_

_Quinn tears her eyes away from the page and finds the bartender leaning towards her with a smirk._

_“Aren’t you a little old to be tending bar?”_

_The retort is automatic, cutting and not entirely accurate. The woman in front of her can’t be much older than Quinn herself, and it’s not like New York isn’t full of thirty-something bartenders._

_She seems to take it in stride. “Ouch,” she says, jokingly pressing a hand to her chest. “Hit a girl where it hurts.”_

_Quinn offers her a tight smile before ducking her head back over the magazine._

_“Besides,” she adds, tugging the magazine away. “This is just my day job.”_

_“How quaint,” Quinn says between gritted teeth, automatically grabbing for the pages as the bartender tugs them out of her reach. “Give me that.”_

_“Tell me your name, and I’ll consider it.”_

_Quinn rolls her eyes. “Quinn.”_

_“I like that,” she says, brown eyes glimmering just a little. “I’m Kate.”_

_“Okay,” Quinn makes another, entirely undignified swipe, only to have Kate tuck the magazine behind her back. Quinn clenches her jaw to keep from snapping. “What do you want?”_

_Kate leans forward on an elbow, dark hair sweeping over her face. Up close like this, she’s entirely average looking, Quinn decides. She hates herself a little for it, but she automatically sizes Kate up against Rachel. Similar colored hair, similar colored eyes, taller, paler. Like an off-brand version. It’s not that she’s not pretty, it’s just that she isn’t –_

_Quinn shakes her head. It doesn’t even matter._

_Kate’s lips quirk up a little as her eyes trace over Quinn’s face. “What do you do?”_

_“Oh you mean my day job?” Quinn parrots unkindly._

_“Yeah,” Kate responds, unruffled. “Your day job.”_

_“If I tell you will you give me back my magazine?”_

_Kate shrugs. “Maybe.”_

_Quinn crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m a lawyer.”_

_“I thought it might be something like that,” Kate says with a quiet laugh. “The suit and all.”_

_Quinn holds a hand out expectantly. “My magazine?”_

_“Tell you what, Quinn,” Kate says. “I’ll give you back your magazine on one condition.”_

_“What’s that?” Quinn asks._

_“Go to dinner with me.”_

_Quinn’s mouth immediately runs dry. Every synapse in her brain is on fire, but an almost quiet realization settles over her. She’s never been asked out on a date by another woman, not really. With Rachel it just happened. They just happened._

_“You know,” she manages finally. “That magazine costs 4 dollars. I could just buy another.”_

_“You could,” Kate concedes. “But then you’ll never know what my real job is.”_

_“What makes you think I even care?”_

_Kate just stares her down, her gaze open and unflinching. “Go to dinner with me.”_

_Quinn swallows against the lump in her throat. “Not dinner. Drinks.”_

_Kate’s face splits into a grin. “Fine, but not here.”_

_“Obviously.”_

_Kate turns away for and rummages under the bar for a moment, before turning back with a pen in hand. She lays the magazine out between them and scrawls her number right next to Rachel’s face. If she notices the way Quinn’s hands shake when she picks it up, she never mentions it._

 

Quinn wakes to an insistent, pounding at her door. Her eyes flicker open abruptly and she’s immediately disoriented. She remembers leaving Rachel’s, remembers calling Jane to tell her not to expect her back, remember the endless, crowded train ride and then her couch, and nothing else. It had still been light out when she’d closed her eyes.

Her apartment is nearly pitch black now, and silent apart from the rumbling knock at her door.

She shuffles to her feet, absently runs a hand across her eyes and through her hair. 

“I’m coming,” she mutters to no one in particular. She’s still so tired, and she wants nothing more than to have that awful pounding stop.

On her way to the door she hits a few light switches, slowly illuminating the path she must have taken this afternoon. Her suit jacket is crumpled on the floor near the couch; her shoes are strewn across the entryway. She has no idea where her purse ended up. It’s worrying, but not worrying enough to slow her progress to the door. 

She doesn’t bother checking the peephole before unlatching the deadbolt and swinging the door wide.

She immediately regrets it when she’s met with Santana Lopez’s scowling face.

“You – “ slips past Quinn’s lips on an exhale.

“That’s right, Q,” Santana drawls, elbowing past Quinn and marching away into the depths of her apartment.

Quinn shakes her head, trying desperately to clear the sleepy fog still clinging to the edges of her mind. 

Santana is examining her kitchen with a disdainful look when Quinn finally catches up to her.

“Did no one ever teach you three that it’s generally considered impolite to show up at people’s homes uninvited?” Quinn says shakily, crossing her arms over her chest.

Santana skims a finger over the countertops, brushing away imaginary dust, and then turns to Quinn.

“You are such a cunt, you know that?”

Quinn chokes on nothing for a moment, utterly taken aback. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually been called that before.”

Santana rolls her eyes. “I assure you, people have been calling you a cunt behind your back for years.”

“People like you?” 

“Uh yeah,” Santana says. “And I’m willing to bet I’m not the only one.”

Quinn exhales slowly, feeling the initial buzz of adrenaline drain out of her. “What are you doing here Santana?”

Santana looks at her, eyes hard, for a long moment before shaking her head. “I’m so mad at you,” she says softly, voice trembling just slightly.

“You fly across the country just to tell me that?” Quinn says.

Santana narrows her gaze. “Of course not, stupid. This is just an added bonus.”

Quinn laughs weakly. “Lucky me,” she says. “Britt then?”

Santana nods a little. “I think her little field trip has gone on long enough.”

“She knows you’re here?”

“How else would I have gotten your address?” 

Quinn shrugs and mumbles, “I thought – Rachel, maybe.”

For the first time since arriving Santana smiles a little, though it’s more smirk than anything. “Yeah, I heard about your little visit with our friend from the Shire. Smooth moves by the way, Fabray,” she adds with a wink.

Quinn ignores that little dig. “Well, I’m guessing you aren’t planning on leaving anytime soon so – drink?”

“What do you have?”

Quinn heads for the fridge. “White wine?”

“Figures you would grow up to be such a square,” Santana says. “Lucky I came prepared.” With that she pulls an enormous bottle of tequila from her purse.

Quinn grins a little. “I probably should have seen that coming.”

Santana hums. “Shot glasses?”

Quinn goes off in search of them while Santana twists the cap off and sniffs at the bottle.

“I gotta say, Q,” Santana says. “As much as that stick up your ass could use some adjusting, I’m glad you and Rachel didn’t do the dirty. The idea of being in the same building that happened in is about the least appealing thing I can imagine.”

Quinn shoots her a glare over her shoulder. “Well it happened right where you’re standing, so.”

Santana’s face twists into a grimace and she steps to the side immediately, before lifting the tequila bottle to her lips.

All things considered, after five years, Quinn figures things could be going worse.

 

_”So, what kind of lawyer are you?”_

_Quinn glances up from her drink, meeting Kate’s intent gaze._

_“My firm does mainly litigation and commercial law,” Quinn replies. “We’re pretty much full service though.”_

_Kate nods. “Well what’s your favorite kind of law?”_

_It strikes Quinn as a sort of naïve and childish question, but she promised herself she’d at least try this._

_“I do a little of everything because I’m still relatively new to the firm,” she says. “There’s some boring stuff like wills and that sort of thing, but I’ve been part of some really interesting medical malpractice suits. That kind of stuff is you know – engaging work.”_

_Kate smiles a little. “My dad was a lawyer, but I don’t think he liked it as much as you do.”_

_Quinn cocks her head. “What do you mean?”_

_“He just never talked about it the way you just did,” Kate shrugs. “You seem to really love it.”_

_She does, but – not the same way she used to. Before, loving her job was just this simple, basic thing. But back then she had never anticipated what it would mean, what it would do._

_“Yeah,” she says finally._

_Kate looks at her for a long moment before slipping out of her chair. “I’m gonna go grab another drink. I think our waitress is a little tied up. Can I get you another?”_

_Quinn shrugs. “Sure.”_

_“Okay,” Kate smiles. “Maybe when I get back I’ll finally tell you about my_ real _job.”_

_Kate’s only been gone a minute or so when Quinn’s phone vibrates in her purse. She knows it’s bad etiquette to answer calls on a date, but she figures that rule only applies when your date is actually there, so she answers. It’s Brittany._

_“Hi Quinn!”_

_“Hey, B,” Quinn says, pressing her free hand over her other ear. “Can you speak up a little? It’s loud in here.”_

_“Where are you?” Brittany asks._

_“A bar,” Quinn replies. “Why are you calling?”_

_Brittany says something, but it’s impossible to hear her._

_“Hang on a second,” Quinn says, standing and making her way towards the bathrooms. It’s quieter once she slips into the little hallway off the main room. “Sorry,” she says, “What’s up?”_

_“Quinn, we need your help!” Brittany’s voice is loud and slightly unclear and it suddenly occurs to Quinn that she’s drunk. “We went up against that old people glee club at Sectionals when we were sophomores right?”_

_“Brittany, what are you talking about?”_

_“Quinn! Quinn!” Brittany cries. “Santana thinks it was actually Regionals Junior Year, but Rachel thinks it was Sectionals Junior Year, so we need you to tell us which one of us is right!”_

_There are muffled voices in the background that Quinn’s brain instinctively fills in. One voice is thick and nasal so she knows that must be Santana, who’s probably crying. The other one she’d be able to pick out in her sleep._

_“Brittany,” Quinn bites out. “Why are you with Rachel? Are you at home? Is she in LA right now?”_

_The line falls silent at that and Quinn distantly makes out Brittany whispering to someone on the other side._

_“Quinn, they told me that I have to go,” Brittany says after a beat. “I wasn’t supposed to call you, but if you think of the answer just text me okay? Love you. Bye!”_

_Quinn’s stomach contracts miserably as the line goes dead. Her mind races with questions about why, and what and particularly how Brittany and Santana could do this to her. They’re supposed to be on her side; they’re not supposed to be getting drunk with her –_

_“Quinn?”_

_Her head shoots up to find Kate standing before her looking concerned. “I thought you might have left.”_

_Before she has time to really consider what she’s getting herself into Quinn slips her hand around the back of Kate’s neck and pulls her in._

_She kisses like Rachel, open, unrestrained and familiar enough that for a second Quinn considers pretending. But then Kate’s hands splay across her hips and she walks Quinn back against the wall, and that’s something new altogether._

_As it turns out, Kate is an artist. Quinn figures it out the next morning when she finds little charcoal smudges all along the line of her jaw. She tilts her head back and forth in the mirror, tracing the path of Kate’s fingers with her eyes._

_They wash away with soap and water, but she imagines she can still see them all day long, dark against her skin; stubborn little bruises refusing to heal._

 

“Okay Mr. Schue, Emma and Figgins.”

Santana’s head pops into view above Quinn a second later. 

“You’re one sick puppy Fabray,” Santana says, rolling out of sight and settling back into the couch cushions.

Quinn just shrugs, leaning up off the carpet far enough to take a swig from the bottle of tequila clenched firmly in her right hand. 

“Fine,” Santana grumbles. “Kill Schue, fuck Figgins and marry Pillsbury. At least she has equipment I’m interested in.”

Quinn snorts a mouthful of tequila through her nose.

“Oh my god,” she rasps, wiping at her lips and chin. “I can’t believe you’d fuck Figgins.”

“Well, I get the feeling Schuester would be all about numero uno in the sack,” Santana says, laughing. “Plus like, the idea of having that brillo pad on the top of his head anywhere near my – “

“Oh god please don’t finish that sentence,” Quinn cuts in with a groan before nudging Santana’s arm with the tequila bottle. “Drink this and for the love of god stop talking about Mr. Schue.”

Santana laughs, but gamely takes a generous swig from the bottle. After a moments comfortable silence she says, “Okay, marry, fuck, kill: Finn Hudson, Sam Evans and Rachel Berry.”

Quinn reaches up and pinches the underside of Santana’s arm. “You’re such a bitch,” she says, too drunk to put any kind of venom behind her words.

Santana reaches down and slugs her in the ribs. “Like that’s news, Q. Answer the question.”

Quinn considers her exes for a long few minutes, weighing them as objectively as she can, which as it turns out, is not very objectively at all. She knows her answer almost immediately, but it feels sticky at the back of her throat. Hard to get out.

“Rachel,” she mutters finally, rubbing the pads of her fingers across her cheek. She can barely feel them.

“Rachel what?” Santana asks, her arm drifting down off the couch, knuckles coming to rest next to Quinn’s arm in what must be some bizarre show of solidarity. “Marry, fuck or kill?”

“All of them,” she says quietly.

There’s a moment of dead silence between them before Santana snorts, then breaks into rumbling laughter. 

“God, you’re so fucked,” she says. “I mean, really. You don’t stand a chance.”

An odd sort of laugh slips past Quinn’s lips, along with a sigh. “Well,” she replies. “I’m not sure I ever really did.”

“That reminds me,” Santana says, nudging Quinn’s arm with the back of her hand. “I can’t believe you and Berry almost did the deed when she showed up here. Well actually, I can because you have about as much self control around Rachel as Puck has around sad, middle aged women, what I meant to say is I can’t believe you had your hand down her pants and you stopped!”

Quinn’s outraged little cry is completely drowned out by Santana’s laughter, but that stops abruptly when Quinn’s closed fist connects with Santana’s shoulder.

“Ow, you bitch!” Santana cries out, rubbing furiously at her arm. 

“It was a mistake,” Quinn says firmly. 

“Duh,” Santana replies. “Wait, trying to fuck her out of your system or stopping?”

Quinn glares up at Santana, but doesn’t comment.

“If it makes you feel any better Rachel was probably just trying to fuck her way back in.”

“How would that make me feel better?” 

Santana takes a long pull off the tequila bottle before passing it back down to Quinn.

“Depends if you want her back in I guess,” she says. “I mean she’s had you whipped for years so frankly, I’m surprised you guys haven’t gotten back together and just abandoned this whole lesbian melodrama thing for good yet.”

“Oh I’m sorry is the woman who chased her ex-girlfriend across the country really commenting on lesbian melodrama right now?” Quinn shoots back. 

“Well at least I’m doing something like, productive about mine,” Santana drawls. “I know ignoring everyone who has ever cared about you and wallowing in your own selfish angst has worked out real swell for you Q, but some of us actually want to solve our problems, not be whiny little bitches about them.”

Santana’s voice sounds stuffy and strained all of a sudden and Quinn feels so guilty that, for a moment, it’s hard to breathe. 

“Santana,” she manages to croak out.

“Ugh shut up, whatever, I don’t want to talk about it except to say that you fucking owe me until the day you die for being such a dick all these years.”

Quinn’s throat feels scratchy and it comes out sounding thick when she tries to change the subject. “Brittany really loves it here you know?” she says. “I don’t know if she’ll want to go back to California.”

Santana’s shoulders lift slightly. “It’s not like there aren’t houses to sell in New York.”

Quinn contemplates that for a long moment. “It’s that simple huh?”

“No you moron, nothing is that simple,” Santana says, eyeroll practically audible. “Have you ever moved across the country? Shit is tedious, but Brittany is the only person on the planet who has ever really made me happy so I’m holding on to her tooth and nail, even if that does mean moving.”

Santana’s words only take a second to sink in, triggering an old memory that sends Quinn into a fit of helpless laughter.

Santana’s head pokes out over the couch a second later, eyebrow cocked in confusion.

“Are you high?”

Quinn snorts and then breathlessly says, “Sorry but, if I can just cut through all the expletives, your point is that you’ve found what makes you happy so you’re going to hold on to it?”

Santana rolls her eyes. “Well, it sounds really lame when you say it like that, but I guess.”

That just sets Quinn off again, and she only stops when Santana reluctantly grins and asks her what the hell is so funny about that.

Quinn smiles, “You’re just not the first person who’s ever given me that advice.”

Santana clobbers her in the face with a throw pillow a second later.

“Yeah well, might be time to take that shit to heart dumbass.”

Quinn is up in a flash, twisting the pillow from Santana’s hand and delivering a few sharp whacks to her upper body. Santana rolls off the couch and manages to wrestle the pillow back, smacking Quinn again before tossing it away towards the kitchen. They lie side-by-side, chests heaving in laughter for a few long, comfortable minutes.

When they quiet, Quinn feels Santana’s warm fingers wrap around her wrist.

“Did you hear that their show is going Broadway?”

Quinn nods.

“Yeah well, there’s a party next weekend and guess how you’re going to start paying me back for being such a tremendously dismal friend?”

 

 **From** : Santana Lopez (slopez@gmail.com)  
**Sent** : 24/01/2024 at 6:15 PM  
**Subject** : DON’T DELETE THIS

_I know you’re pissed, but STOP IGNORING MY CALLS. Rachel is in town for work and Brittany invited her over for dinner. What was I supposed to do? Uninvite her? B shouldn’t have called you, but come on, we were all hammered and obviously not thinking straight. This is getting a little ridiculous. Call me back you bitch, otherwise you’ll never get to hear what Trouty told me about that sack of flour Finn Hudson._

_**YOU HAVE FIVE NEW VOICE MESSAGES. FIRST NEW MESSAGE:** _

_“Quinn it’s Brittany. I’m really sorry about the other night. That was such a dumb idea, but if you were wondering, Rachel was right. We beat those old people at Sectionals when we were juniors. Weird right? Hey did you hear that Finn’s wife is pregnant with twins? Hopefully they aren’t as tall as he is because youch! Call me back!”_

_**NEXT NEW MESSAGE:** _

_“Quinn what the fuck? This is like the thousandth message I’ve left you. It’s been two weeks, how can you possibly still be upset about this? You’re acting like you didn’t bring that midget into our lives and force us to be friends with her. Just because you hate her doesn’t mean we have to too. Grow up, Q.”_

__**From** : Santana Lopez (slopez@gmail.com)  
**Sent** : 15/02/2024 at 3:54 PM  
**Subject** : Sorry

_Okay so Brittany has informed me that the last voicemail I left you was “mean”. I guess I can see where she’s coming from. I know you’re angry and you’re hurting (saying you’re “fine” is fooling no one, stupid) but I’m not the one who fucked you over, and neither is Brittany. We’re your friends and this whole mess is really getting to B. She’s all sad about it which means that she never wants to have sex. I HAVEN’T HAD SEX IN A WEEK QUINN. CALL US BITCH._

 

 **From** : Brittany Pierce (fondu4_2@gmail.com)  
**Sent** : 17/02/2024 at 7:54 AM  
**Subject** : :(

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZK-bZMDEgdQ __

_**YOU HAVE TWO NEW VOICE MESSAGES. FIRST NEW MESSAGE.** _

_“Quinn, you need to talk to Brittany. She’s been watching videos of sad animals on YouTube all fucking day. Still no sex by the way! Fix this.”_

 

 **Santana Lopez** Text Message (2)  
Your phone better be broken.

Seriously.

 

 **From** : Brittany Pierce (fondu4_2@gmail.com)  
**Sent** : 4/03/2024 at 7:54 AM  
**Subject** : listen to the lyrics !

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fWNaR-rxAic&ob=av2e 

_CALL US MAYBE?_

 

 **Brittany Pierce** iMessage (3)  
Did you get my email?

Quinn?

:(

 

_**NEXT NEW MESSAGE:** _

_I can’t fucking believe you. Are you even still alive? It’s been two months. Where the fuck do you get off Quinn? Call us._

__**From** : Santana Lopez (slopez@gmail.com)  
**Sent** : 10/06/2024 at 1:54 AM  
**Subject** : I don’t even know why I’m bothering.

_Fine. We get it. We tried over and over again. You chose this._

 

There’s a sharp knock on her door just before nine on Saturday night. Santana is grinning at her when the door swings open, but the grin quickly slips when she takes in what Quinn’s wearing.

“Are you fucking kidding?” Santana says, pushing past her into the house. “You’re not going to court, Q.”

Quinn glances down at her outfit. To be fair, she has worn it to court before, but it’s a designer suit.

“What’s wrong with this?”

Santana shoot her a look over her shoulder. “No, I mean, it matches your sourpuss personality perfectly. Where is your bedroom?”

Quinn gestures down the hall and follows after Santana, who beelines directly for her closet.

“Suit, suit, suit,” Santana says, flicking through her hangers. “Oh gee look more suits.”

Quinn rolls her eyes.

“Seriously have you like, left the office once in the past five years?” Santana asks, pulling out yet another suit. “This is just sad.”

“There’s some dresses on the right, you insufferable bitch,” Quinn mutters, shrugging out of her suit jacket and taking a seat on the end of her bed.

Santana flips her off over her shoulder before moving to the right side of her closet and flicking through the meager selection. A moment later a black dress sails towards her, landing at her feet, followed quickly by a red one.

“Either of those will do, I guess,” Santana says, heading for the door. “Get dressed, we’re gonna be late.”

 

Predictably, Santana abandons her almost the second they get to the party. It’s at some bar near the theatre the show opened in, and Quinn wonders if it’s the one Brittany had invited her and Jane to that night after the show. The memory of the conversation that followed is enough to send her straight to the bar. She orders herself a glass of white and settles there, watching the crowd milling around. There are a few familiar faces, and she spots Brittany across the room, who waves, before promptly sticking her tongue down Santana’s throat.

Quinn slumps down onto a stool at the bar and downs the rest of her wine before ordering another.

 

She makes it through two more glasses before somebody joins her. 

“Can I get a vodka, water, lime please? Lime cordial, not a wedge, if it’s not too much trouble.”

Quinn rolls her eyes, instantly recognizing the drink order, and says, “Hi, Rachel,” without even looking up from her glass. 

Rachel throws down some cash on the bar, takes a sip of her drink and then takes the stool next to Quinn’s. “I hope you don’t mind if I sit for a while. It’s a little overwhelming out there.”

Quinn discreetly examines Rachel out of the corner of her eye. She looks flushed, but if she were the betting kind, Quinn would put her money on ‘drunk’ rather than ‘overwhelmed’.

“It’s fine.”

They quietly sip their drinks for a few minutes before Rachel turns to her and says, “You look really beautiful tonight.”

Quinn’s stomach turns over and she shakes her head. “Rachel – “

“It’s just a compliment, Quinn,” Rachel interjects, sounding a little exasperated. “Actually it’s just a statement of fact. I’m not trying to – “

“It’s – fine,” Quinn says, shifting awkwardly in her seat. She knocks back the rest of her wine and signals for another.

“It’s funny you know,” Rachel says, turning in her seat until her back is resting against the bar. “All these people here, I mean, five years ago I couldn’t have _paid_ any of them to care about me.”

Quinn quirks an eyebrow in response.

“It’s hard not to pinch myself sometimes,” Rachel breathes. “I’m going to be on Broadway.”

“Why are you telling _me_ this, Rachel?”

Rachel’s head dips slightly and she chews on the corner of her lip before turning to face Quinn completely.

“Sorry I just – I look at you and feel like I’m 23 years old again and – it’s hard not to want to tell you everything,” Rachel says in a self-deprecating tone. “You were always the first person I went to when something good happened and – I don’t know – it’s proving to be a difficult habit to break.”

Quinn swallows hard and deflects. “I think you may have had enough to drink.”

Rachel reaches out and lays a hand on Quinn’s arm. “Quinn I – “

“Rachel!” 

Someone Quinn doesn’t recognize is gesturing at Rachel from across the room.

“That’s my director,” Rachel says. “I should go see what he wants.”

Quinn breathes a sigh of relief when Rachel retracts her hand and steps away from the bar. She looks down at her drink for a second before looking Quinn square in the eyes.

“You have no idea how much it means to me that you came,” she says soft enough that Quinn can just barely hear her over the clinking glasses and the din of voices. “I never thought we could end up here.”

She leaves at that, and Quinn’s left thinking that the feeling is absolutely mutual.

 

_The way Kate’s fingers are tracing over her bare back is more irritating then soothing, but Quinn doesn’t see the point in saying so. Kate is calm, and contemplative and Quinn doesn’t really have the desire to drag Kate down with her. She gives so little of herself as it is, the least she can do is let her have these quiet moments, after._

_Kate’s fingers trace something that feels like letters down the length of Quinn’s spine, but she can’t quite make them out._

_“When I was little – maybe five or six years old – my neighbor killed himself.”_

_Quinn stiffens slightly, confused, but Kate doesn’t stop tracing fingertips over her skin._

_“So, that left my parents with the daunting task of explaining suicide to three kids under the age of ten,” Kate says softly. “I’m sure they did their best, but I don’t remember much of the conversation. This one thing stuck with me for a long time though.”_

_She hopes that Kate isn’t looking for input here, because Quinn is completely lost now._

_“I remember my mom explaining that he was really sad and somehow what I took away from that was that he had died because he was sad. Like sadness was some kind of sickness or a disease. For years after that conversation I was terrified of getting so sad that I’d die.”_

_Quinn shifts, rolling away from Kate’s touch on to her back._

_“Why are you telling me this?”_

_Kate props herself up on an elbow and peers down at her._

_“We’ve been doing this for almost two months now,” she murmurs quietly. “And I don’t think I’ve ever seen you happy and I really hate that.”_

_“Then why are we still doing this?” Quinn asks tiredly._

_“Because you’re smart and beautiful and I like you,” Kate says, brushing a strand of hair off of Quinn’s forehead. “I’m just – worried about you.”_

_“What? You think I’m going to kill myself?” Quinn scoffs. “You don’t even know me.”_

_“I know that you’re a lawyer, who drinks dark beer and kisses on the first date. I know that you don’t let anyone into your apartment and that you get a lot of calls and texts that you completely ignore,” Kate points out. “And I know that you really don’t want to be having this conversation with me right now.”_

_“Then why are we still having it?” Quinn asks, slipping out of bed and gathering her clothes._

_“Because I’m worried about you,” Kate says, sitting up. “I don’t know what to do to make you happy.”_

_“I never said I wasn’t,” Quinn points out, pulling on her underwear and pants._

_“You didn’t have to,” Kate says, voice laced with frustration._

_“I don’t know what you want from me, Kate,” Quinn says. “It’s not like what we’re doing here is a serious thing.”_

_“It could be,” Kate replies softly. “I’d like it to be, someday. But I need you to meet me halfway here. I can’t be with someone who won’t even try to be anything other than miserable.”_

_“Look,” Quinn says, shrugging into her shirt, fingers working through the buttons. “I don’t know what you think you know about me, but I’m fine. I’m great.”_

_Kate looks at her, eyes tinged with something like pity. “Are you sure?”_

_“Of course I am,” Quinn says. “I have to go, I have deposition in an hour.”_

_“Okay,” Kate says. “Will you call me later?”_

_Quinn leans down and brushes her lips across Kate’s cheek. “Of course.”_

_She figures one last lie won’t hurt either of them._

 

Quinn doesn’t think much of it when Brittany catches up to her at the coat check and asks her for a favor. It isn’t until she sees Santana, hovering just beyond Brittany’s shoulder, that she knows that what Brittany’s about to ask her isn’t going to be just any favor. Santana’s expression is neutral at first glance, but Quinn’s known her long enough to be able to read the glint in her eye and especially that smirk ghosting across her mouth.

“No,” Quinn says hardly a breath after Brittany asks her. 

Brittany cocks her head in confusion and Santana steps in behind her, places an arm around her waist and says, “Come on Q, what’s one small favor between _friends_?”

The meaning behind her words is clear, and Quinn for a short moment wishes she could go back in time a few weeks to when she didn’t have a single person to owe favors to.

Quinn sighs. “Fine. What do you need?”

Brittany grins a little, always so much less adept than Santana at hiding her scheming, and says, “Rachel’s had way too much to drink. We need you to take her home.”

Quinn’s stomach bottoms out as she snaps, “You have to be kidding.”

Santana shrugs. “Afraid not, Quinn. The hobbit overindulged and B and I are over on the other side of town. Rachel’s place is on your way.”

“You can’t possibly expect me to – “

“Please, Quinn?” Brittany asks, curling a warm hand around Quinn’s wrist, gently holding her in place. “Pretty please?”

There’s no choice, not really, not with these two working against her, and they all know it. Santana detaches herself from Brittany and says, “I’ll go get her.”

As she retreats around the corner Brittany steps forward and folds Quinn into her arms. 

“It’s gonna be okay, you know that right?” she murmurs.

Quinn suddenly feels a sting in her eyes, the fresh threat of tears, and she mumbles back, “Is it?”

Brittany pulls away, giving both her shoulders a reassuring squeeze, but before she can say more Santana comes back into view, with an obviously unsteady Rachel in tow. Rachel’s eyes have that lazy, droopy quality to them as she shuffles towards them. Quinn notices that she’s barefoot, but there’s no time to comment because a second later Rachel’s eyes focus on her, and then widen dramatically.

Santana lightly shoves Rachel toward Quinn and then ushers them both out the door. She follows after them, stepping to the edge of the sidewalk and hailing down the cab.

“Come on, Winehouse,” Santana says, helping Rachel to settle into the backseat. 

Quinn steps forward and fixes Santana with the fiercest glare she can muster. “We’re even after this.”

Santana rolls her eyes. “Not even close, babe.”

Quinn grudgingly slips into the taxi, allowing Santana to slam the door shut behind her. Santana waves through the glass and offers her a disgustingly smug grin before turning on her heel and heading back into the bar.

Quinn glances at Rachel out of the corner of her eye. She looks so impossibly tiny curled up on the seat, her bare feet tucked up under her body. Her head is slumped against the glass, her eyes are closed and her breathing is soft and steady.

Quinn sighs and quietly feeds the cab driver Rachel’s address.

 

“Rachel, wake up.”

Rachel barely stirs when the cab comes to a halt in front of her building. 

“Rachel!” Quinn calls again, nudging gently at her shoulder.

Rachel rouses at that, her unfocused eyes blinking open. “Where are we?”

Her voice is a little slurred.

“Your building,” Quinn says. “It’s time for you to go home.”

Rachel stares in Quinn’s general direction for a long moment before uncurling her body and reaching for the door handle. She stumbles when her feet connect with the pavement, but recovers a moment later, making it all the way to the door in one piece.

Quinn is just about to tell the cab driver her address when she sees Rachel slump down on the steps of her apartment building, her head tilting against the brick wall.

“Can you wait a minute?” Quinn asks the driver. He only shrugs in response, but Quinn takes it as a yes and slips out of the cab.

“What’s wrong?” Quinn asks, pulling up short in front of Rachel’s hunched over frame.

Rachel’s head lolls to the side as she peers up at her. “Can’t find my keys,” she says miserably.

Quinn sighs and reaches out a hand. “Where’s your purse? I’ll find them.”

Rachel’s head dips down again, coming to rest against her knees. “No purse.”

“You didn’t bring a purse?” Quinn says. “Are your keys in your pocket?”

Rachel shakes her head.

After a moment Quinn is struck with an awful realization. “You left your purse at the party, didn’t you?”

Rachel’s shoulders bob up and down in a half-hearted shrug.

“And your keys are in your purse.”

“Sorry,” Rachel murmurs.

Quinn drags a hand through her hair.

“I’m going to fucking kill Santana.”

 

_At first she mistakes the sound as her neighbor moving furniture again, and dismisses it entirely, leaning back over her dinner. But then she hears it again, loud and persistent._

_“Quinn?”_

_Her name is muffled through the door and she finally realizes that the noise had come from someone knocking. She can’t remember the last time anyone knocked on her door. Kate had never come here and there just – there hadn’t been anyone else to knock. Not for a long time now._

_She makes her way over to the door hesitantly, and peers through the peephole. Her stomach shuttles towards her feet when she sees Brittany’s familiar face contorted by the lens._

_“I heard you walking over here so you should probably just let me in,” Brittany says, words drifting through the door._

_Quinn reluctantly unlatches and opens it a moment later._

_“Hi.” Brittany look tired and withdrawn as she brushes past Quinn into her apartment._

_“What are you – “ Quinn asks, trailing behind her. “How did you get up here?”_

_“Waited until someone else was going in and caught the door.” Brittany says, smiling weakly._

_“What are you doing here?”_

_“Well sort of making sure you’re still alive and sort of yelling at you. But I’m not so sure I can do the second thing anymore.”_

_“That’s – “ Quinn swallows uncomfortably. “That’s not really a good enough reason for most people to fly across the country Brittany.”_

_“Well what else was I supposed to do?” she asks. “I tried calling and emailing and texting. You wouldn’t answer.”_

_“Did you ever consider that maybe I’m not interested in talking to you?”_

_“But we’re friends,” Brittany points out, as though that were all the reasoning in the world._

_“What about Rachel? She your friend too?” Quinn asks bitterly._

_“Yeah,” Brittany says. “But that doesn’t mean that we can’t be friends too, does it?”_

_Quinn sighs. “It kind of does actually.”_

_“Why?”_

_“How can you seriously ask me that?” Quinn says, voice rising in anger. “After what she did to me, how can you not understand that if you’re her friend, you can’t be mine?”_

_“But she needs friends,” Brittany says. “She’s sad too, she just won’t admit it.”_

_“Don’t – “ Quinn says, gritting her teeth. “I don’t want to know about how she feels okay? I don’t care.”_

_“You do,” Brittany accuses gently. “I know you do, you just don’t want to admit that you do. She’s the same way about you.”_

_“Brittany, stop,” Quinn snarls. “This is none of your fucking business okay?”_

_Brittany recoils, shrinking into herself. “Santana said that too. She said if you wanted to be a bitch that was your choice.”_

_Quinn shakes her head. “You shouldn’t have come here.”_

_“I had to,” Brittany says helplessly. “I had to at least try.”_

_“I think you should go,” Quinn says. “I’m really busy and I – I didn’t ask for this. I don’t want you here.”_

_Brittany’s face falls. “Really?”_

_It kills her a little bit that she’s not even lying when she says, “Yes.”_

_Brittany nods, eyes flashing with sadness, and follows Quinn to the door._

_“I’m sorry you’re so lost, Quinn,” Brittany says, pausing in the doorway._

_“What – “ Quinn shakes her head. “What are you talking about?”_

_“You’re like the captain of boat that’s lost at sea,” Brittany says simply, reaching up to rest her fingers along Quinn’s cheek. “Don’t you know there’s tons of fish in there?”_

_“Brittany, stop,” Quinn mutters faintly._

_“There is,” Brittany presses. “Maybe if you caught one you would be able to talk to us again.”_

_Quinn shakes her head, heart thumping against the cage of her chest._

_“You’re beautiful and everyone’s always wanted you,” Brittany says, bringing her other hand up to cradle Quinn’s face between them. “I bet you could have whoever you wanted. Any fish.”_

_Quinn’s eyes slip shut as she wrenches her face out of Brittany’s hands. “I don’t want fish okay? Don’t you get it, Brittany?”_

_“What do you want then?”_

_“Don’t make me say it,” Quinn pleads, wondering when exactly she lost any semblance of the upper hand here._

_“Please,” Brittany murmurs, eyes worried and wet._

_“Rachel, okay?” Quinn says. “Is that what you came here for? I don’t want fish I just want her. Does that make you happy?”_

_“Kind of,” Brittany admits gently. She pulls Quinn into a tight embrace, fingers digging dents in her muscles. It feels like more than a simple goodbye._

_“Call me,” Brittany says, echoing months of unanswered call and emails. “Any time.”_

_Quinn closes the door behind her, presses her forehead against the cool wood for a long time before turning away._

_Today’s newspaper is sitting on the kitchen counter and she rifles through it until she lands on apartment listings. Maybe Brittany’s right. Maybe she is lost. But that doesn’t mean she has any intention of being found._

 

“What are you doing?” Quinn doesn’t mean for it to come out as a whisper, but it’s hard as hell to get words out around Rachel as is, and it’s so much harder when she looks the way she does right now, framed by the inescapable city lights filtering through her living room window.

Rachel doesn’t turn, or even acknowledge Quinn at all. The silence is setting her on edge, and she thinks about telling Rachel that if she looks east she could see her firm’s building, but refrains. It would be a pointless exercise and Rachel doesn’t seem to be in the listening mood. Quinn watches as she leans in close against the window and for a moment it looks like she’s searching for something, but then Quinn sees the glass fog up in front of Rachel’s face. She traces an ‘R’ and then a star, and then slowly wipes them both away with the heel of her hand. This isn’t bubbly, spin the bottle, midnight kiss, drunk Rachel. This is something so much softer and sadder and Quinn has to say something to make this all stop before what’s left of her self-control disintegrates completely.

“I brought you some water,” she says, her voice sounding too loud, too sudden.

Rachel’s hand drifts down the glass. “I was watching a plane.”

Quinn sets the glass of water down on her coffee table. “I – I’ll get you some blankets.”

Just the very edges of Rachel’s fingertips press against the window near her side when she says, “I love flying. Did I ever tell you that?”

“No,” Quinn mumbles, her heart stuttering in her chest.

“I used to fly all the time and now I can’t even remember the last time I was on a plane,” she says, her head turning to the side, not far enough for their eyes to meet, but enough that Quinn’s eyes can trace the familiar line of her profile. “That’s silly isn’t it? It must have been July, but it feels like a lifetime.”

Rachel falls quiet again at that and Quinn takes off down the hall toward her linen closet. As her feet echo along the hardwood floor Quinn can’t help but think about how Rachel has airplanes, and she has office buildings and maybe that’s the big, irreconcilable difference between them. Maybe it always has been.

 

She can’t sleep. She never really expected to be able to, given that Rachel Berry is curled up on her couch in an old Columbia sweater. 

She’s sitting in her kitchen, nursing a cooling mug of tea and waiting for anything about her life to make sense again. It’s hard not to feel like she’s been waiting for that for five years. When she really thinks about it, parts of it are slotting back into place all the time now. Brittany, Santana, her job. Things are fitting together the way they used to, but then there’s Rachel.

Rachel who, if Quinn isn’t mistaken, is humming in her sleep. She used to do that all the time when they lived together. It was like Rachel was so full to the brim with melodies that they would spill over in her sleep, when she was so much less able to keep them at bay. 

Quinn always found it annoying as hell, but something in her shifts at the faint hum drifting through her apartment.

Rachel hums in her sleep, and she sings in the shower and she is the sorest loser Quinn has ever met. Quinn has no idea how she’s supposed to reconcile that Rachel, with the one who completely shattered her heart. Uncertainty sluggishly wades through her as she tries to figure out exactly what she’s supposed to do now. 

There’s her life as it was, and her life as it is, and then there’s Rachel in her living room; a softly snoring beacon of all the things she knows, that she can never unlearn. 

Nothing is easy, if anyone knows that it’s Quinn. She’s suffered through awkward adolescence and armpit-smelling punishments and giving up her daughter. All of those things were hard, but she’s pretty sure loving Rachel Berry is the hardest thing she’s ever done.

But if being Quinn Fabray has taught her anything, it’s that more often than not the hard thing, and the right thing, are the same thing.

 

Rachel still wakes up at dawn, and that more then anything settles Quinn’s racing heart. Rachel rubs her eyes blearily, glancing around until she lands on Quinn, who’s still clutching a now ice-cold cup of tea. When their gazes meet Rachel’s face immediately falls.

“Fuck,” she mumbles softly. “Quinn, I’m so sorry.”

Quinn half-shrugs and sets her tea down on the counter.

“Will you come with me somewhere?” she asks, suddenly nervous.

Rachel stands, face open and confused. “Okay,” she answers unevenly. “Sure.”

 

_There’s nothing on the night of the Emmy’s broadcast. Her PVR is empty too and she’s had far too many cups of coffee and gone over far too many legal briefs to do anything except curl up on the couch with a glass of red wine and watch something mindless on TV. Watching a bunch of dumb celebrities swan around on the red carpet is about as mindless as it gets._

_And well – she knows Rachel’s nominated, and she’s spent the past few weeks trying to figure out how it’s possible to want so badly for her to lose and win at the same time._

_Rachel doesn’t walk the red carpet, and Quinn is grateful for that. The idea of Rachel pouting and posing for a wall of eager photographers makes her sick to her stomach._

_By the time they announce Rachel’s category Quinn has worked her way through an entire bottle of red wine. Her heart leaps in her chest when two actors she doesn’t recognize introduce the nominees for “Outstanding Supporting Actress in a Miniseries or a Movie”._

_It must be alphabetical because almost immediately Rachel’s smiling face fills her screen, robbing Quinn of her breath._

_“Rachel Berry in ‘The Romanovs’.”_

_Rachel nods her head just slightly at the camera before it pans away._

_She has no idea who else is nominated because she can’t hear the announcers over her own uneven breathing. After a single moment of unbearable quiet Rachel’s name is announced again._

_The camera pans to her as her hand flies to her mouth in shock. Quinn watches, heart hammering against her ribcage as Rachel moves around her table, accepting hugs and cheek kisses before making her way onstage. Her hands are visibly shaking as she accepts the award and steps up to the microphone._

_“I – I,” she stutters, her voice thick with tears and so terrifyingly familiar. “I know everyone says they wish they’d prepared a speech in order to sound modest, but the truth is I’ve been practicing this speech since I could talk.”_

_The audience laughs and applauds and Rachel’s face splits into a painfully wide grin._

_Rachel goes on to thank virtually every member of the cast and crew, calling out name after name in rapid-fire succession._

_“And finally,” she says, eyes glistening. “I have to thank my dads for soundproofing my bedroom and always, always encouraging me to go after my dreams. I love you guys.” She holds the statue up, her arm trembling a little under the weight of it. “Thank you,” she says, laughing. “Thank you all so much.”_

_Then Rachel’s gone, exiting stage left and it’s only when the first drop hits her lap that Quinn even realizes she’s crying._

_“I believe a congratulations is in order.”_

_If it’s possible, Ryan Seacrest has only gotten douchier with age. Quinn wouldn’t even be watching him if it weren’t for the fact that he’s interviewing Rachel, who’s still clutching her statue and grinning from ear to ear._

_“Thank you!” she says, stepping toward his outstretched microphone. “I’m not sure it’s really hit me yet, but I’m so, so honored.”_

_“How does it feel to be an Emmy winner?”_

_Rachel shakes her head and laughs. “It’s very surreal. I mean, it wasn’t all that long ago that I was working in a dive bar and living off tips.”_

_Ryan laughs and asks, “Any advice for those girls out there still working in bars and looking to make it big?”_

_Rachel is quiet for a second, her chin dipping towards her chest, her eyes dropping abruptly._

_“Just – “ she says, taking a deep breath. “Don’t lose sight of who you are.” She looks straight into the camera and Quinn feels Rachel’s gaze pierce right through her even though they’re thousands of miles apart. “Chase your dreams but – remember where you came from, and the people who – who’ve helped you along the way. Because when you get here, you’ll want them around to share it with,” she finishes with a smile so soft and small and incongruent, given the situation._

_Ryan just plasters on a cheesy grin and asks, “So are you sharing this with someone special tonight?”_

_Rachel rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “A lady never tells.”_

_“Just one last question here, and then you can get to celebrating,” Ryan says, and after Rachel nods he goes on. “There’s a bit of a rumor going around that you might be heading overseas to play a certain green lady.”_

_Rachel gives an insouciant little shrug and says, “We’ll have to see, won’t we?”_

_“Thanks for speaking to us Rachel, always a pleasure and congratulations again.”_

_“Thank you,” Rachel says, leaning in to accept a kiss to her cheek._

_And then she’s gone._

 

“I – “

They’ve been standing in the old apartment for nearly twenty minutes and that single syllable is all Rachel has managed to get out. As much as Quinn wishes she could rush this part along, she understands that doing so would be a huge mistake. She needed a long time to come to terms with these rooms; it stands to reason that Rachel would need the same.

Rachel turns to her finally, wet eyes shining, and says, “You – you kept it?”

Quinn nods.

Rachel sniffs, and runs the sleeve of Quinn’s sweatshirt past her eyes. “Why?”

A little laugh brushes past Quinn’s lips. “It took me – god, forever – to figure that out,” she says, fixing Rachel with the steadiest look she can manage. “At first I think – I guess I hoped that –“

She takes a slow breath. 

“I hoped for a long time – probably longer than I should have – that you would come back,” Quinn says, something like shame running through her. “And when you did, I wanted you to have something to come back to. A place to come home to.”

Rachel’s eyes drop to the floor. “Quinn – “

“No,” Quinn shakes her head. “I need to – please just let me get this out.”

Rachel’s face is miserable, and so sorry, but she nods for Quinn to go on.

“When it became clear that you – that you wouldn’t be coming back, I still couldn’t just give it up. My – my whole life I – “ Her voice cracks and Rachel shifts forward a little, like she wishes she could steady her. “I never felt like I had a place that was mine. My parents house was just – kind of a disaster and then after – after Beth there was Finn’s and then Puck’s and then Mercedes’ and I didn’t – “

Rachel’s crying openly now, tears spilling silently down her cheeks and it’s all Quinn can do not to crumble.

“I never understood why people always made such a big deal about having a home because I never really had one,” Quinn explains. “And then there was this place and I finally got it. How good it felt to belong somewhere. I thought that maybe I could hold on to that if I stayed here but – “ Quinn gives a slight shake of her head. “It wasn’t home without you,” she says quietly “And the really problematic thing, Rachel – is that no place is.”

Rachel lets out a sobbing breath. “What are you saying? I think I – but then, I’ve been wrong about this sort of thing before so I really need you to help me out here.”

“I think that I could handle you leaving again,” Quinn says quietly. “I did it once and I think I could do it again.”

“Quinn I would never – “

“I could do it again,” Quinn interrupts. “But I don’t think I could handle having you here and not even trying.”

Rachel’s face lights up through her tears. “So, you want to– “

“Yeah,” Quinn says, chewing on her lip. “I’m tired of waiting to feel something other than awful all the time and this is the first thing in a long time that I think might make things better.”

Rachel’s smile stretches the entire width of her face. “Okay – um wow – that’s really excellent news. So what do we – what do we do now?” Her shoulders set determinedly. “Do you want to – I mean my apartment is bigger than yours, but I’m not really as attached to it as I’m sure you are to your place – “

Rachel starts to go off on this tangent and it’s ridiculous, but it’s also strangely comforting. Quinn knows that exuberant organization is Rachel’s safe space and that’s okay, because for a lot longer than she’d ever admit Rachel has been _hers_.

“Rachel,” Quinn interrupts gently. “I was thinking more along the lines of brunch maybe?”

Rachel’s mouth slips shut abruptly and she looks at Quinn like after all this time she’s just realizing that she’s there. She blushes and then she laughs, and that tiny, watery sound is the saddest, loveliest thing Quinn’s ever heard. 

“That actually sounds really good,” Rachel says, nodding. “I’m – I’m going to hug you now.”

Quinn laughs a little and steps forward as Rachel’s arms snake around her shoulders. It’s only then that she lets out the shaky breath and the nervous tears she’s been holding in all morning. Rachel seems to just sink into her, fitting against her in a way that feels new and incredibly familiar at the same time.

Rachel lips skim over Quinn’s skin as she whispers, “Get rid of this place.” Her hand brushes past her neck as she pulls Quinn in tighter. “I – I want you and I will do whatever it takes to make this work but – I can’t compete with this.”

“Okay,” Quinn mumbles softly.

Rachel’s lips press against her shoulder quickly before she pulls away, smiling gently. “So,” she says, “Breakfast?”

It’s not a promise, or a guarantee, but it’s a second chance and that’s so much better.


End file.
